Hale Protocol
by Katherine-E-Kora
Summary: A PREQUEL TO LOTF: APOCALIPTICA. PLEASE READ THAT FIRST. Roger always thought he'd never matter. That he'd never make a difference to anyone. Too bad he was wrong. Why is it that, just as we find purpose, it's ripped away? Why did it have to go like this? As he tries to make sense of his life, he may lose the very things that made it up in the first place. Rtd T for later grimness
1. Chapter 1

** .**

**Surprise. Finally, the prequel to LOTF ap….WTF KAT. YOU TOOK SO LONG**

**Anyway, here it is~ SPECIAL THANXIES TO ITALKTODEADPIGS. YOU MOTIVATED ME TO POST THIS. **

**I'm going to go ahead and answer your questions right away:**

**Reader: OMJEH…THIS IS NOTHING LIKE LORD OF THE FLIES AT ALL…**

**Kat: It's a prequel…read Lotf Apocaliptica to understand it. Please. Readit.**

**Reader2: WTF. SO OOC.**

**Kat: Again, read apocaliptica. FORGOODNESSLAKES..READ. I can't really explain it anymore than that. ;-;**

**Reader3: Roger is totes a sadist. That's what maeks him hotototototot.(TOBUSCUS REFERENCE LOL)**

**Kat: ….this is his previous life. JUST READ THE NOT-PREQUEL…I'M GONNA GO CRY NOW…**

**Reader4: DON'T CRY! WE THERORHETICALLY LUV YOU!**

**Kat: I LUV YOU 2! WAAAAAAAAA!**

**Ok, now that that's cleared up, you can read nao. Sorry for the ramble…and also, for making the readers sound like stuck-up preps…THAT"S JUST WHAT I THINK OF PEOPLE WHO COMPLAIN FOR NO LEGITIMATE REASON OTHER THAT TO PISS ME OFF, OK?! *sobs* **

**Again, Thx to Italktodeadpigs. I hope this explains things that went on and happened and did stuff in the first fic…lol.**

….

HALE PROTOCOL: A PREQUEL TO LOFT APOCOLIPTICA

CHAPTER ONE: JELOUSY

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 31, 1929. LONDON, ENGLAND

_ Another day that I have failed. My presentation with the wonderful scientists at gladiator has gone exactly as I thought it would, and ended with rejection yet again. I'm starting to believe them, you know. I'm starting to believe that I'm worthless scum, that none of my ideas are worth anyone's time. After all, that's what the streets have to offer anyway. I've never been to school, at least, not recently. They have no reason to believe my ideas are worth anything, especially when they're so far-fetched. _

_ I guess I'll try again tomorrow._

_-Roger-_

The dark haired boy breathed a long, heavy sigh and shut his notebook with both hands, leaning back against the brick wall of the alley with all his weight. It's the only thing he trusted to hold him at times like these, when everything seemed for nothing; when his daily existence and purpose came into question. Rain spattered the pavement by his feet, and Roger drew them to his chest instinctively. Might as well avoid sickness if he could; it's one of the few things he could control, theoretically. Outside the alley hurried business men, primped up in their stiff suits, trying to get home before the rain got too bad. When they opened the door, they would be welcomed by the arms of their children and wives, and then they would sit down at a big square table set with warm food. Maybe a word of prayer would be said, wishing prosperity onto their family and good luck for the coming days. They would eat their fill, and when the time came, they were ensured a warm bed to spend the night in. There roof was sturdy, they wouldn't have to spend any of the darker hours under an umbrella ridden with holes. Their carpet wasn't slabs of cement. They didn't worry about meals, or being shot at.

"I hate my life. I wish it would change." Roger muttered, wrapping his worn leather coat tighter around his shoulders. Slowly, he drifted into a fitful slumber.

…**..**

**Thanks you for reading! Bye!**

**B4 you go, please also review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hai. **

**You're reading this in cry's voice. **

**This is not a distraction**

**You are very sleepy**

**You are very…ZZZZ…**

…

CHAPTER TWO: HOPE

JANUARY 1, 1930

"As I was trying to explain," Roger began once more in frustration, "And I understand that this concept is decades away, and a little hard to grasp, but it's an idea I've been chewing at for a length of time."

The Chairman of the company rolled his eyes and nodded. He was a heavy-set man, about fifty by the looks of it, with greying hair and dark brown, super-serious eyes. It was the first time he had agreed to hear Roger out, and this gave him just a glint of hope. Maybe today was the day. Today might just be the day that his fate would change forever. "Go on. I haven't all day." The man gruffly said.

"Yes, yes." Roger drew out the rolled-up poster board from his backpack and flattened it against the tack-board the company had provided for his presentation. The first one of the New Year. On the paper, there was a neatly drawn figure, the internal structure of a human being was revealed on a cut away. It was essentially the same as any figure, except for one crucial part of their anatomy. "Could you tell me, sir, what is wrong with this man?"

"Nothing." The chairman replied, "He's just a normal human being, like anyone else."

"Wrong!" Roger shouted with a swing of his arm, "Look closer and you'll see that it's missing a brain."

"So you came here to tell me that we need to remove our worker's brains?" The man said skeptically. There were murmurs of dissent from around the oblong table. The younger boy flushed red and went back to his diagram.

"No." He muttered, "But I do- I mean…resurrecting the dead is possible. I…"

The chairman started to guffaw in laughter. "You're round the bend, kid!" He snorted, "Tell you what, when you can prove this theory-what did you call it?"

"Artificial Intelligence Programs." Roger whispered.

"Well, when you have proof, give me a ring. I'll see you in about never." The chairman turned to a younger girl who stood by the door, looking quite aghast at whatever she had seen. "Escort him out please."

The girl bowed, sending her auburn hair across her face. "Y-yes father." She motioned to Roger, who had already started to pack up. He hauled his back pack across his shoulder and started for the door. At the last second, when the girl was already ahead of him, Roger threw the chairman both fingers. He laughed darkly to himself as he heard the gasps of disbelief echoing from the room.

"Filthy street boy." one muttered. Roger closed the door behind him. The girl who had been told to 'escort' him out had waited for him by the clergy desk. She looked at him with happy green eyes.

"That was awful." She smiled.

"I'm sure if it really bugs him that bad, he can just pay to have a hit man come and kill me. Isn't that what you rich people do to people you don't like?" Roger shot her a playful glance. "Filthy street boys." He mocked, pushing against the door with his free hand.

"I have to escort you home." The girl caught up to him before he could make it out the door with at least some dignity. "So, where do you live?"

"Where do filthy street boys generally live?" Roger shrugged, answering his own question sarcastically. "I dunno, maybe…the street?"

"Oh." The girl looked sad for a moment, "I thought they were just making fun of you." They were outside now, it was rather chilly outside, and there was a nip to the air that hadn't been there before. Roger kept walking, with the girl tailing him. He turned down the alley around the side of the building and set his things down underneath his red and white umbrella.

"Yeah." He said quietly, "This is where I live." He sat down and looked up at the strange girl with his light brown eyes from under the shade of the umbrella. "You've done your job, so you can get back to whatever it is you do. Tara."

She smiled something brilliant and kneeled down so that she could be level with him. "Well, I didn't get you name. That would be rude of me if I didn't introduce myself. I'm Hale Elisabeth Griffiths."

"Roger." He sighed, shaking her hand in exasperation. What was this girl up to?

"I thought your idea was really neat." Hale said with genuine truth, surprising Roger. "I mean, it's definitely a faraway concept, but you shouldn't give up just because my dad says so. He can be kind of a jerk sometimes."

Roger just shrugged uncomfortably. "It's not worth pursuing. I don't have the money…I think gladiator's just about had it with me. I don't know where else to go. I don't know what else to do. I just…don't know. I'm scared, because in all reality…I believe everything they said about me back there."

"Tell you what." Hale clapped her hands together excitedly, "What if I come and talk to you every day? I have school Monday through Friday of course, but I can be here all day on the weekends, except Sunday mornings and sometimes I have to work…"

"Anytime you're free would be great." Roger interrupted. Hale smiled another one of her award-winning grins.

"Well, tara then."

"Tara."

_I think my luck has started to change, though not quite in the way I originally intended. It's funny. Nothing ever turns out how we intend, does it? Nothing ever changes in this big, wide world. But we do change. We try to adapt to something that doesn't, and I find this almost laughable because it was what I was trying to do all along, but really all I had to do was be myself and hope for the best. _

_ I'm hoping._

_Roger_

…

**PANDORA, Y U NO GIVE ME GOOD MUSIC.**

**Also, thx for reading this shiznit. Luvs and hugs! **


	3. Chapter 3

***Sleeping still***

…**.**

CHAPTER THREE: BITTER AND SWEET

JANUARY 20, 1930

It was one of those terribly cold, frigid London days. A day where the snow fell in lazy clumps, sticking the frozen ground without mercy.

But still, she was there.

Hale wrapped her fingers around a steaming cup of something sweet and inhaled a deep whiff of its sickening fumes. Roger held something identical. He had never in his life been so close to something that smelled so good.

"What is this?" he asked plaintively, wrinkling his nose at the toxic steam that billowed from his cup.

"It's hot chocolate." Hale answered happily. She was smiling so wide that it narrowed her eyes; two luminous lakes of green. Her bangs fell right above them, and the rest of her hair ended straight on her back. "It's my favorite part of the winter. Try it."

Roger scrunched up his nose and lifted the cup to his mouth. "Bottoms up…" He tipped the frothy liquid backwards. He immediately drew it back, sputtering and coughing.

"What's wrong?" Hale asked worriedly.

"Are you trying to poison me?" He asked in disbelief. Roger couldn't believe he actually let the strange liquid pass his lips. Hale gave him a strange look and took another sip of hers.

"It doesn't taste bad to me." She frowned. "And, no. I'm not trying to poison you."

Roger calmed down a bit and set the cup aside.

"It's just too sweet for me."

…**..**

**FLUFF IS BOUNTIFUL, IS IT NOT? :D**

**Thanks once more for putting up with me! REVIEW PLS?**

**BYE!**


	4. Chapter 4

**OK, I'm going to go ahead and answer another common complaint I will probably have. Frankly, I'm rather sick of this one. It's something that many a people before you have said and many a fanfiction by me has been cancelled due to. If you read any other works by me, and start to think this, I HAVE THE CURE-ALL ANSWER FOR YA, RIGHT HERE.**

**Readers: WHY IS THIS STORY SO PREDICTABLE, KAT. WE ALREADY CAN TELL HE"S GONNA GET THE GIRL AND CRUD.**

**Kat: No, you can't. This is only the fourth chapter. Plus, even if you've read LOTF ap and can tell who Hale is and what she stands for, this is still going to be a wonder ride for you, I'm making sure of that. IT'S NOT THE DESTINATION THAT MATTERS, BUT THE JOURNEY AND HOW YOU GET THERE. I tell myself this every day. We all know the ending of our own story; we'll all die someday. But, we still are surprised every single freaking day by what a marvelous, huge, terrible, sad, laughable world this is! I wake up every morning and think to myself: Wow. I'm alive. And I feel fucking awesome about it. **

**Really. **

**There's nothing better than smiling as you travel up the road to certain death. Try it sometime. **

**Now that I gave you a feel about what's in store, here we go.**

…

CHAPTER FOUR: PUZZLED

FEBRUARY 14, 1930

Hale scanned a fresh page over with expert eyes. The coffee shop fragrance was overwhelming and delicious; it made her mouth water. Daintily, she picked up an ink pen and stenciled in the desired words. When she was finished and satisfied that her wording had the desired effect, Hale closed the worn leather book and slid it across the table to her friend. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands as if contact with another person had tainted it somewhere.

"Aren't you going to read what I wrote?" She asked, puzzled.

"No…" Roger placed the journal back on the table. "I'll read it later."

"Are you sure?" Hale piped.

"Yeah." He responded uneasily. Roger watched as she took a swig out of a small paper cup and sighed.

"Well, just promise me one thing then, ok?" She finally said after a long pause. Roger batted the hair out of his eyes and nodded.

"Sure." At his answer, she smiled meekly.

"Only read it when you're really sad."

He cocked his head to the side. What a dumb rule. Either way, he made a mental note to do as she said. The front door of the tiny shop dinged, announcing the arrival of another costumer. Hale turned to look, and immediately flushed bright red. Roger tried to see what had made her so flustered, but was awarded with an open menu to his face.

"It's my father!" Hale giggled, lowering her voice to a whisper. Roger froze where he was.

"Well this sucks." He muttered. She laughed again, moving the menu so that it hid their faces, but they could talk without a barrier between them.

"Huh." Hale reached forward and tugged on a stray strand of hair that curled to the side of Roger's face. "This piece is longer than the others. It's annoying me, actually."

"I've never thought much of it." He grimaced. Why did all of his imperfections always show in Hale's presence? He glanced at the piece of black hair through the corner of his eyes. She had started to twist it between thin fingers, curling it even more. He took her hand in his and placed it back on the table. "Stop that."

"Fine." She said. She didn't sound angry though, just slightly puzzled, like she always was.

"Sorry." He instinctually replied.

"Why?" Hale raised an eyebrow. "I was bothering you, obviously. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Well, just because."

"Pfft. How dumb!" She scoffed, struggling to keep up the quite tone. Her father still stood at the counter, arguing with the barista over some stupid mix-up in the order.

"Why is that dumb?" Roger retorted. "Maybe you're dumb." He regretted it the instant the phrase came out of his mouth. "Goddamnit. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing!" She laughed.

"I can't help myself!" Roger complained, "You make me feel like such an uncivilized person! You make me feel lots of things; I don't even understand all of the things!" He regretted that too. She blushed.

"What kinds of things?" She asked quietly.

"N-nothing! No kinds of things!" He tried to cover up. Now he was red too. Hale sat normally in her seat and stared at the floor. Roger let the menu fall flat on the table and allowed himself a few deep breaths. He almost really screwed up.

"Hale? What are you doing here?" A familiar and unwanted voice questioned. While the two had let their guard down, Hale's father had not. She panicked, and jolted towards the door with Roger in tow. "Come back here, young lady!" The man screamed after them. But it was barely noticeable. Hale was too busy running and laughing and trying to keep her footing on the brick pavement.

Roger was too busy enjoying the warmth of her hand in his. It felt so good; it shouldn't, but it did. He frowned.

Deep down, he knew that they should have never been together.

…**..**

**BITTERSWEET.**

**Remember that word, friends. It's basically the whole feeling of this fic.**

**SO MUCH FEELS LATER. YOU'LL FEEL ALL THE FEELS.**

**Also, telling me I'm being rude is not a bad thing. XD. I know I can be a little forceful with my opinions sometimes…just tell me and I'll stop. TSHNX 4 REDING!1!**


	5. Chapter 5

**TWENTIETH CENTURY ENGLAND! MWUHAHAHAHA!**

**Btw-THE GAMEYOU JUST LOST IT.**

…**..**

CHAPTER FIVE: A PROPOSAL

MARCH 2, 1930

Hale shoved the food on her plate around in circles, taking a few minutes to admire its pearly surface, waging wars with the butterflies knotted up in her stomach. Her mother and father partook in civilized conversations beside her, at the head of their elongated dinner table. It had been lengthened to make room for their dinner guests. After all, today was a very momentous occasion; it marked the tenth anniversary of her beloved father's company, Gladiator Incorporated. Everyone who was anyone would be here.

That didn't mean she wanted to be. In fact, she'd give just about anything to abandon this fancy dining hall and put on something more comfortable, perhaps slip out of her window on the second floor, and run as fast as she could to that alley way. Roger would be waiting there for sure…Hale should be there by now…She pulled out her silver pocket-watch anxiously and checked the time. Already eleven…damn.

"Young lady, put that thing away." Her mother scolded, "And eat your food, like a proper young woman. You're fifteen, start acting it."

"Yes." One of the older women at the table sighed in agreement, "It's about time you two start looking for a proper husband for the girl. They're getting harder and harder to find each day."

"Indeed, they are" Another old bird clucked, "I reckon though that many a suitor will pursue your young Hale. Being as pretty as she is, and coming from a well-off family as well."

Hale's mother smiled in gratitude at their words, as was costume. "We actually have just started to look into it." She said, "That gentleman, young sir Harry, the one whose father is head of the queen's guard, has been of our highest esteems thus far…"

Hale bolted out of her chair and slammed her palms on the maple wood of the table, making her food and cutlery leap as she did. "NO!"

Everyone looked astonished. Her mother dropped her fork and her father turned bright red. Hale froze, brushed herself off, and sat back down, trying to take back everyone's good opinions. "I mean…" she tried to explain herself, then blurted without thinking, "I've already been proposed to."

"What?" Her mum exclaimed franticly, "Dear, why didn't you tell us? This is something we need to know! Oh, and you just had to wait until now, of all times…"

"Hale," Her father muttered, taking another forkful of food, "You know that's not how it works. He's supposed to approach us first, ask for your hand…but not before courting you of course, and always waiting until you're good and ready…ripe, some put it."

"Dad!" Hale blushed.

"I'm just stating the truth."

Hale's mother attempted to be a bit more civil. "Well, sweetie," She stammered, "Can't you at least tell us who it is? I'm sure he's a fine gentleman…which family does he hail from? I heard you've been hanging out with the Wallace's a lot at school. Is it one of their boys? Sigmund, perhaps? He's very handsome…"

"uh…" Hale flushed white. What should she say, how should she respond?! Nobody had actually proposed to her! But, if she didn't answer, and quickly, her parents would make her marry some stuck-up prick! Why did things always have to end up like this for her…She racked her brain for a list of names. Who was inconspicuous enough that mum and da wouldn't know them at first mention, and that didn't care enough to act as a suitor, even if for just one night?!

"Roger." She blurted out. Her parents both looked at her quizzically as she blushed bright red, even at the saying of his name. She regretted saying his name.

"Is he a sir?"

"No, just Roger." She muttered in reply.

"Last name?"

"Just Roger."

"What does he look like, darling?" The first bird crooned, "I reckon that one of us ought have seen him somewhere around the city."

"Um…well," Hale tried to cover her cheeks with her handkerchief, "I…He's…he's not much to look at to the average person…but he's very cute to me and I've always kind of liked him. He hangs out around da's workplace a lot, and he's a little awkward. He's got really pretty eyes…"

Mum smiled at her warmly. "methinks you are in love, dear child."

"Stoppit ma!" Hale complained light-heartedly, laughing. Her dad still didn't look impressed.

"Next week, we're having this…Roger…over for dinner. I still have to approve of this." He grunted disdainfully. Hale stuck her tongue out at him when no one was looking, then sagged and moaned pitifully in her seat.

Goddamn her and her big mouth.

…

**Thanx for reading! Tell me about your Feels in the reviews, if you might be so kind! THXXXXXX!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AHHHH...Its been so looooong...**

**Hi.**

**...**

CHAPTER SIX: WISH

MARCH 3, 1930

Hale fidgeted unnaturally on the cold brick pavement of the alley. Roger turned to her curiously and put a gloved hand on her shoulder.

"This isn't like you Hale." He said to her. Her bright green eyes looked strangely despondent. "What's wrong? Are you sick? Yesterday, you didn't even come, and today you were late. What happened to you?"

She didn't answer at first, then she took a deep breath and responded, "I'm ok, really. You don't need to worry about me…"

"You can tell me anything, Hale." He tried to comfort. It wasn't one of Roger's high points, he had to admit, but it was worth a shot. "You know that. It's not like I have anyone to tell anyway."

"I know."

"So…?"

"…" She looked at him with something peculiar glowing in her soft gaze, then looked at the ground again. "If I asked you to run away with me, would you?"

Roger leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push down his surprise. "I guess, if it's what you really wanted…wait…" He jolted up. "You've told me a million times how much you love your family! Why…What did your father do this time?!" He grabbed her arm and worried over it anxiously, "Did he hurt you? Tell me!"

Hale jerked her arm away and laughed quietly. "No, I'm fine. I'm sure…I mean, my dad isn't _that_ cruel, Roger. Give the man some credit. It's just…we were talking yesterday, and they already want me to get married to some pompous prick from some stupid haughty-taughty family. I don't want that…plus, it's too soon to get married! I'm only fifteen!"

"I can beat the kid up for you." Roger suggested darkly, "That way, his good looks won't go in his favor so much." Hale shrugged half-heartedly. She knew he would do it; he would do anything for her. It wasn't fair…

"It's ok." She calmed, "I-I told him…I mean, I said something…I…I told him that I was already proposed to."

"Oh…" Roger tried his best to sound happy for her. Really, what he wanted to do was cry a bit inside, then write something sad in that journal by his feet. But, as a friend, he should be happy for her. "Well, don't hold back, who's the lucky man? Knowing you, he's probably good-looking…I hope he's not too uptight. You know, you really should tell me more about what goes on when I'm not around. I don't know any of your school friends! Do people pick on you? How are your grades doing? I…"

Hale shifted a little closer. Roger inched away uncomfortably.

"Hey, don't be so sad." He said honestly, "You know I'll always be waiting if anything goes wrong." Damn, that sounded a lot more creepy and intimate than he had intended…

"Hey, Roger." Hale whispered after a while of silence. He nodded, waiting for her to speak up. "…I told him…"

"What?"

"…I told him it was you." She leaned against Roger's shoulder and closed her eyes sadly. "I told him it was you…I shouldn't have, but…I did. I'm so sorry, but you're the first person I thought of, and I really didn't want him to know I was lying…I…"

"WHAT?!" Roger shot up. Hale fell to the side, then slowly and shakily got to her feet as well. "You told him WHAT?"

"I…" She whimpered.

"Don't! Just…UGH! Why, Hale? Why would you even…" Roger was so confused. Emotions swirled within his mind, fighting to take a place of prominence. Right now, anger was at the forefront. "I can't believe you. Honestly."

"Roger, please wait! You have to understand!"

"No, Hale, you have to understand." Roger growled, dangerously close to her now, "This would never work; us. Not even for pretend, not even for one minute."

"Couldn't you just come over on Friday? Please?" Hale pleaded, not making eye contact. Roger grabbed her chin and made her look at him. Eye contact was important.

"Hale."

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Something inside him screamed. Don't do this, it told him, why on earth would you do this, it's too soon. Either way…there was only one thing to do, wasn't there? He wanted a story book life. Not this. Why was it that real life had to be so shitty?

Breathing in deep, he leaned forward and kissed her.

**...**

**I know it's a little short, but, I have a lot of other projects going...Thanks for reading! Please review if you have the time~~**


	7. Chapter 7

**PSHHT.**

**Sorry for this chapter.**

**It sucks some major balls.**

**I JUST HAVE SOOOO MANY OTHER STORIES GOING RIGHT NOWW ;-;**

**PlEASE FORGIVE ME.**

…**.**

**HALE PROTOCOL**

** CHAPTER SEVEN: KISS**

** MARCH 9, 1930**

Hale fell back into a plush velvet chair. Her father had bought it for her when she was only seven. Most of the time she used it to read one of the countless books in our library…But, on days like these, she used it to think. Thinking was healthy for the brain, right? She sighed; yeah, that was total bullocks.

Carefully, she brought three fingers up to her lips. Upon realizing what she was doing, however, she smacked them away with her free hand._ This is why thinking is bad_, she thought, _because nobody ever thought about good things_.

Roger was her friend.

Nothing more

Certainly nothing less…

But…

"No!" She screamed in frustration. Hale picked up a pillow from her chair and pressed her face into it. The door opened behind her; Hale's mother had walked into the room, all fancy for tonight's dinner. Too bad the guest of honor decided he wouldn't come…

"Hale, sweetie, what are you doing? I just finished you make-up, darling." She crooned softly, moving Hale to a vanity chair near the balcony. The doors had been opened to let the cool, night-time air in. This late in spring, it tasted unusually flowery and sweet. Hale dropped the pillow into her lap and let her mother smooth out her hair with a brush. Something turned in her stomach, butterflies trying to escape.

"Mum, what if he doesn't show?" She tentatively asked. Her mother laughed lightly. It was no wonder her father had fallen for her mother all the time ago. Hale tried thinking about her own gratifying traits yet came up with nothing.

"If he doesn't show, dear, then he obviously doesn't deserve you." Mum finally answered. Hale sagged with a sigh.

"That's…not true. I don't deserve him."

"Silly girl." Her mum lightly scolded, "he must be pretty handsome them." Hale looked down, but her mother pushed her chin back up with a thin finger. "Stop moving so much. You're ruining your hair."

"There's a lot more than looks, you know." Hale said crossly. Her mother rewarded her with a light smack to the side of the head. Though she knew that her mum was only doing as she always would've, and what was expected in society, Hale jumped up impatiently and pushed away the filigree brush she held. Her mum's eyes widened. Children never spoke out against their parents. It was…well, sort of like taboo.

"I'm sick of being rich!" Hale blurted out suddenly.

"Stop spouting off nonsense." Her mother warned, "You should be grateful for the wealth your father's business has brought us."

"I'd rather be dirt poor than ever be grateful!" Hale screamed, "I hate not even being able to go out by myself anymore! People always recognize me! And I hate having to be married and I hate that you'll force me if I don't and I hate everything about it! I just want to live my own life!" Her mother gasped, covering her bright red lips with a gloved hand.

"Hale, now, I know you don't mean it-"

"-I do! I mean every damn word!"

Hale's mother stood up now, flustered and angry now. "There is no cursing in this household, young lady!"

"Fuck you!"

Her mother smacked her across the cheek, much harder than the last time. It sent Hale reeling, falling back against her bed crying. She clutched her cheek protectively.

"Your father will be hearing about this." Hale's mum stated quietly, "There will be no dinner tonight, and you are NOT allowed out of this room until further notice. Understood?"

"I never wanted it anyway…"

"_Understood?_"

"Fine, yes. Get out of my room." Her mother picked up her skirt and left without another word. Hale took a shivery breath, tearing up more. What had she done, what had she done? What a mistake she had made of herself…for a while, she picked up the pillow again and sobbed into it. But then, something hit her foot and rolled under her vanity, startling her. Hale looked up, waiting for more. A few seconds later, much to her expectations, another thing flew up from her balcony and rolled across her floor. It wasn't something heavy enough to make a sound, but it wasn't something small either. She got on her hands and knees and crawled over to the newest object, resting at the foot of her chair. Taking it in her hands carefully, she turned it over. It was a ball of paper, torn straight out of a journal. She recognized it…Frantically, Hale started to unfold it. She smoothed out the edges, laying it flat on her pale white floor. She breathed out each word.

_Dear Hale_

_ Sorry I fucked up back there…I mean, you know, not in a weird way, just in a way I usually do. But, I'm sorry so I really hope you forgive me or_

The rest was scratched out and scribbled over. Hale placed the note on her vanity and ran to her balcony, forgetting that she was still in her silk slip that was supposed to have gone under her dress. It was dark outside, well past midnight. She narrowed her eyes, searching out a familiar shape, but finding only the normal shape of the city, the gate around her house, a few cars meandering the streets. She frowned angrily. The trees certainly didn't throw the note at her!

"Roger!" She called at the darkness. There was a shuffling below. She looked to it.

"Did I miss dinner?" A voice called up. Hale smiled and laughed.

"No, right on time. Now get your ass up here." Roger, now that she could see him, looked quite uncomfortable and unsure. Hale threw him a look. "Come up here."

Roger climbed doggedly upwards, it was a short climb to the balcony, and pulled himself over the edge. He fell to the floor, out of breath.

"My knight in shining armor." Hale mocked. Roger stood up and walked over to the vanity, picking up the unraveled paper.

"You opened it…" He moaned.

Hale shrugged and looked over his shoulder, glad he wasn't bringing up its contents or the events of prior days. He crinkled up the letter again and shoved it in his pocket. "Where'd the other one go?" Roger asked.

"I forget." Hale sighed, "Why? Was something in it?" She watched as Roger picked a book off of her side table and sat down in her chair. She liked how he looked there.

"It was just some brainstorming. I scrapped it a while ago, so it's really no big deal." He continued to flip through the book, smoothing out all of the dog-eared pages. Hale wandered over and sat down on the floor next to him. It felt so strange and forbidden, him being here, but she couldn't say she didn't like it.

"Can you tell me about them?" She whispered.

"About what?" Roger asked, confused.

"Your ideas."

He paused for a moment, then smiled. "Yeah, but only if you give me an answer."

Hale's heart dropped. "To what, exactly, am I answering to?"

"Do you forgive me?" He said honestly, "I really am sorry for…what happened."

"There's nothing to be forgiven for." Hale responded quickly, "You don't have to be sorry. I should've…I mean, I need to think about some things." She clapped her hands happily. "But, now you have to tell me what all your big ideas are about, Ok?"

"Fine." Roger sighed tiredly, "But, you have to tell me what you're thinking soon enough." Hale wasn't quite sure what he meant by that; she pushed it out of her mind and listened eagerly to Roger as her told her of another world she had never heard of before…Where the dead could walk again, and people moved faster than light. A world where the future was in technology and everything was perfect for those who controlled it.

It sounded like a world she could be happy in.

…**.**

**Alright, now that that's over, thanks for reading…PLEASE REVIEW IF YOU HAVE THE TIME! And thank you to all the wonderful people who have reviewed so far. I LOVE YOU GUYS IN A NON-AWKWARD WAY! This actually has more reviews than the original, non-prequel…weird.**

**If you might, also, it would be nice if you'd check out some of my other stories too~ I'm working on a crossover currently, WHICH I AM REALLY FREAKING EXCITED ABOUT, with the walking dead and LotF. **

**So, THANKS AGAIN FOR READING AND PUTTING UP WITH THIS! DOUBLETHANKS TO MY REVIEWERS SO FAR, COCOLADA, ANNA, ITALKTODEADPIGS, AND…GUEST. THANK YOU!**


	8. Chapter 8

HALE PROTOCOL

CHAPTER EIGHT: DISCOVERY

APRIL 30, 1930

Hale's mother bent over the floor with her sponge, bringing it over the dusty marble tiles. Her movement was rhythmic, almost lulling. She hummed and sang faint little tunes as she worked, always keeping pace with her scrubbing. Cleaning day was always a good day for her; a day when everything would be washed and white and you could go to bed feeling fresh as a spring bloom. Even the air smelled nice: Like lilacs and velvet.

She took a moment to scoot her bucket of suds sideways, in better reach. It was then, as she moved it from underneath her daughter's vanity to beside the bed, when she noticed something she hadn't before. A little ball of paper, haphazardly thrown into a corner. How very unlike her daughter, she thought, to leave garbage on the floor. Hale was usually messy, yes, but lately, much to her mother's excitement, she had been taking a keen interest in household duties. She wouldn't even let her mum do the laundry anymore; she insisted on doing every bit all by herself. Even now, Hale was down by the lake in the backyard, washing the bed sheets and such. Her mother noted this with a nod of approval. Indeed, since their last argument they had improved their relationship by leaps and bounds, at least in her mother's eyes. Young women of her age were to act accordingly and keep their men's houses tidy. Her mother turned her attention back to the paper wad. Being careful not to bump her head, she reached underneath the vanity drawers and fished it out.

Now that she held it in her hands, mother could tell it wasn't their ordinary drawing paper. Journal paper, maybe? She was instantly curious. Even on the outside of the ball, scribbles and pen-marking ran in untidy lines.

What harm would a peak do?

There were no secrets in this house.

None at all.

Unhandedly, she pried open the paper and unfolded the peaks and valleys of its surface. The writing was so tiny and perfect. Whoever had written it must've been of great education too, since it was even beyond her what each formula meant…circuitry and mechanisms she had never heard of…what was this? Why had Hale hidden her genius like this?! Her mother smiled and carefully put the paper in her apron pocket. Then, she left her work behind and walked briskly down the stairs, to the study and library.

Her husband would hear of this. Surely, it would be of some scientific use.

…

**Thanks for reading and reviewing you guys! I had no idea that this fic would be so popular…Also, sorry Just Another Believer if you felt singled out by the 'guest' thing…XD. I didn't mean it that way. **

**PS…I need help…I've reached the document limit in the section of my account…Do I have to have the docs there for them to be in a story, or can I delete them and still keep the stories and chapters up?! ANY ADVICE WOULD BE HELPFUL THX! XD**

**Also, I apologize for the shortness of the chapter…sorry.**


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE: FORGIVENESS**

**APRIL 30, 1930**

Hale ran the sheet over the scrubbing board for the last time, panting with the effort. She hated doing chores. She usually got away from these sort of things…but…eugh. It's not like she could let her mother have all the fun, could she?!

Hmph.

She stood up and began hanging the sopping fabrics on their clothesline. Cleaning day was only once a month, so it wasn't often used…unless someone fell into the mud or got caught out in the rain. In which case, their mother would just do the laundry as soon as the weather permitted it. Hale could at least feel a little better, knowing her mum wouldn't have to do all the chores. Sure, she was doing them for rather terrible reasons…but…

Nervousness fluttered within her, heavier than butterflies.

Hale tried not to remind herself of that.

"Hale!" Her father's gruff voice beckoned. She turned, putting on her best smile.

"Coming, Da!"

…

Roger felt a little jumpier than he should have.

This felt wrong.

As he walked down the street nearest to Hale's house, he felt it everywhere; condescending eyes on him. Yet, he couldn't help but feel happy. Past all of this foreboding, of course.

Hale had made her choice.

And it had been him.

He felt like telling everybody.

…**.**

**Sorry about the short chapter, again. **

**It's not permanent.**

**The next ones will be longer. I promise. It's just for the purpose of these chapters, they kinda should be short. :P Thanks for reading and perhaps reviewing. **

**Also, if you do this, could you pray for my friend, Kingdomheartslover123 on this site. He's in the hospital right now. I HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER!**

**Also, don't read his fanfiction. ITS BAD NEWS…XD unless you like slenderman…and porn.**

**Thanks for reading XD**


	10. Chapter 10

**To make up for the last, really short chapter, I'm posting this next one early. Enjoy. STUFFS IS GOIN TO GO DOWN SOON, YO.**

**Enjoy every piece of fluff while you can.**

**Enjoy it.**

…**..**

CHAPTER TEN: CIRCUITRY

APRIL 30, 1930

….

….

_ A switch, flipped upwards. The reaction, at first, is slow, but it gains its pace soon enough. Lights flash. Blue glowing energy races across the wires, illuminating the darkness. It's faster than sound now, faster than speed itself._

_ It stops._

"Hale." Her father said as she came to a halt in front of him, "I've been calling you."

"I heard." She panted, "Sorry, Da. I was down by the lake…doing laundry…"

"Walk with me."

Anxiety jolted in Hale's stomach again. She tried to calm him. Or her or it. Whichever. Either way, she trotted alongside her father for a while. They went through the rows of trees growing in their orchards; the light filtered through their fresh blossoms beautifully. She tried to soak up their warmth. It felt nice.

"How have you been doing in school?" He asked.

"Just fine. You hand selected the teacher yourself, don't you remember?" Hale laughed.

He sighed wearily. "You know, word has it that war is on the horizon." Hale's father stopped and turned to her, "We need to prepare the company…make newer, better weapons to serve our country during that tough time."

"What does this have to do with school?" Hale asked, surprised at this sudden change of topic. Da reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. Hale's heart dropped to her stomach.

Roger's note.

"These ideas of yours…they can change the world, Hale."

"That's not mine." She blurted out.

Her father raised an eyebrow. "Whose, then? Hale, this is the work of a technological genius."

She scrabbled in her mind for a response, looking rather like a deer in the headlights. Hale clenched her fists by her sides. She was trembling.

"Hale?" Her father sternly repeated, "Where did this note come from?"

"R-Roger." She whispered, "He gave it to me."

"Gave it to you or_ left_ it for you?!"

"Gave it to me."

He calmed down a bit, though was still a shade more red-ish than before. Hale tried to relax herself, but the anxiety had already been there before…that nagging guilt. She'd shamed her family…she was happy though, really! This was the happiest she'd ever been…since she forgave Roger…let him in…everything had been right. Yes; she felt it deep in her soul of souls that they were meant to be together. Like Romeo and Juliet.

"Who is this man you keep talking about?" Her father continued to question, "Roger? I've never heard of him before."

"You've met him several times." Hale shrugged it off, starting forward slowly again, "At the office, around town…he's presented his ideas to you on several occasions. Only to be shot down, of course, and laughed at."

Her father grunted in reply. "Why would I ever refuse _this_?"

"Because he's a nervous speaker." She explained, gesturing a little to get her point across, "He stammers a lot. And sometimes, he does this thing with his hands: he kinda twists his fingers together like this." She wrung her hands in a knot to show. Hale's Da watched incredulously.

"No wonder then."

"See. But, he's really a smart boy." She thought of Roger proudly. What was he doing now, she wondered? She looked forward to seeing him again. Plus, she had something important to ask him.

"Well, I'd like to meet him…maybe sometime soon." Her father spoke through narrowed eyes. Hale shuddered. She didn't like the look.

"Yes, maybe sometime soon." She responded, but leery still.

_ The creator of this circuitry looked down upon it and frowned. Without as much as a warning…He pulled the plug._


	11. Chapter 11

**SO…I haven't updated THIS in a while.**

**SIIIIIGHHHHH…..**

**Here you go. To be honest, I'm just trying to get through all this intro stuff so that the REAL story can begin. ;)**

…**..**

HALE PROTOCOL

CHAPTER ELEVEN: 'choice

MAY 10, 1930

Hale looked out over her balcony, staring longingly out across the pale surface of the moon. So much cleaner than her conscious, she thought, so much cleaner than that. Beside her, Roger stirred slightly and fixed her with an intense gaze.

"Are you alright, Hale?" He asked slowly.

"Yeah…wait. No, no I'm not." She smiled weakly and laughed, "I actually…have something to tell you."

"Hmm?" Roger frowned in detached interest. It was getting warmer every night, he had noticed. The earth was beginning its preparations for a late summer, the blooms on the trees giving way to blossoms and leaves. The orchard below looked more beautiful than ever.

"But first…" Hale stuttered nervously, "Could you get me a glass of water downstairs? Please? It's right down in the kitchen. Easy to find."

"Are you sure it's ok for me to be down there?"

"Everyone's asleep this time of night." Hale dismissed, "They won't see you."

Roger turned and pushed through the door that led out of Hale's room and into the extravagant halls. Arches and murals covered every surface. Once he had navigated that labyrinth, he descended the marble stairs and found the kitchen in the immediate vicinity. He muttered something under his breath about odd timing and began sifting through the ice box for anything of use. Nothing. With a sigh, he began his search of the cupboards. As he moved some canned goods gently to the side, a small glass measuring cup rolled out of the cabinet and clunked to the floor. Roger froze, not even daring to breathe. Her parents' room was within his line of sight…he sent up a silent prayer that they hadn't heard.

When a few minutes passed and no one came out of the room, Roger released a sigh and stooped to his knees to pick up the fallen item. He turned it over in his hands, carefully checking the surface for any cracks or chips. Luckily, it hadn't broken. Roger stood back up and began to place it back on the proper shelf.

Living on the streets for most of his life, he thought that the noise should have come to him sooner. However, the sound might have been delayed by the cushy warm air, or maybe the feeling that he was safe here. He wasn't.

The noise was the sound of a shotgun being cocked back.

Roger swerved just in time to dodge a heavy slug that would've landed square in his back. Instead, the measuring glass received the metal and shattered into a million little fragments of beauty. The pieces sparkled and shimmered in the light of the kitchen as a woman ran from the bedroom and flung the lights on, screaming.

"You!" The man said gruffly, anger lacing his voice, "Is this how it works with you street kids?! I rejected your ideas and you broke into my house, aye?! I'll teach you!"

Roger ducked and another slug hit the cabinets and sent wood splintering over his head. He gritted his teeth. Damnit; in a moment of desperation, he had crouched against the bottom of the counter and cornered himself. Well, there goes living. He should've told Hale to go get her own damn water! Roger looked up angrily, throwing his killer one last hatred-filled glare. He couldn't see his eyes behind the barrel of the shotgun.

"DAD! STOP!" A familiar voice screamed, terrified. There was the sound of rushed footsteps as Hale sprinted into the kitchen and tackled the gun her father held. It went off, sending a round into the icebox. It began to hiss in pain.

"Stop, please!" She cried, "You don't have to fight!"

"What are you talking about, Hale!" Her mother shouted in dismay, "He broke into our home, honey! Your father was just trying to protect us!"

"No!" She insisted. Roger pushed himself to his feet and crossed over to her, keeping a close eye on her father, who leered at him with curiosity set ablaze. The frown he always wore carved itself deeply into his face as he helped her to her feet.

"What's going on here?" Her mother asked.

Hale used the splintered cabinets to steady herself; Roger kicked the shotgun away from anyone's grasp, and it slid somewhere behind him, into the dining hall.

"Mum, it's not what it looks like…" Hale began slowly, "Roger's just…He's…"

"This is ROGER?!" She shrieked, "He's in our house?! Honey, what was he doing in our house?!"

"This…This…" Her father turned an angry scarlet color, and appeared to be simmering to some indefinite boiling point. Roger made a guess that it was unbelievably low, at least for a mammal, which is mostly made of water anyway. In his mind, Roger started making a rough diagram, started by the thought that humans might boil. Well, that pretty much tanked his last rough drafts. Maybe one day he'd get the science right.

"This is outrageous!" He father finally exploded, "Hale, you are a shame to my family! I can't believe you'd choose this ruffian…and let him in our house!" He marched forward and grabbed his daughter by the collar of her nightgown. Roger rushed forward, laying a hand on his in warning. It went unheeded.

"Don't touch me, scum!" Her father growled and swatted him away easily.

"Sweetheart, hold on! Don't do anything too rash…can't we talk about this?!" His wife screamed over the clamor. Roger picked himself up from the floor and rushed forward in time, only managing to make it to catch Hale as she fell backwards, nose and face bruised and bleeding. Her mother had been reduced to tears. Roger looked up at her father angrily.

"She's your daughter! You can't just-"

"Not anymore she isn't." Her father said through his teeth, pulling a small handgun carefully from his pocket, "Now, GET OUT. Before I wake the guard!"

"I'll take care of my daughter…" Her mother sobbed, struggling over to Hale's side, "Just leave, please."

Roger shook his head and looked down at her one last time. Hale's green eyes just barely focused themselves on him, probably sending her some fuzzy representation of himself, with the edges between the wall and himself blurred to a point where they could be equated.

"Hale…" He whispered.

She loosely held his hand.

She was giving him the choice.

His head told him to run.

His heart told him to stay.

In the end his logic won out, and Roger held fast to his coat as he ran out into the night, just like he had always done. Why did he always have to run from his problems? Why couldn't he stay? Why?

Why…


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey again! It's me, Kat!**

**I've really been inspired to write for this lately! I'm glad too, because I really love the story line, which is weird since I'm the author. Anyway, I've updated the soundtrack lists as well if you want to head to my profile page and check those suckers out. **

**If my internet stays on, expect some late-night updates! Good luck with your black Friday shopping everybody!**

…**..**

HALE PROTOCOL

CHAPTER TWELVE: Deal

MAY 31, 1930

After what happened at her house, Roger never went back. He kept waiting, expecting to see her cheery face peering around the corner of his alleyway, her hand reaching down and propping up the umbrella, her sea-green eyes curiously tasting him…but she never came. It had been three weeks. Still, no word from her or her family.

It was time to go back.

…  
Roger rapped tentatively on the grand front door of Hale's house, waiting patiently for a response. Even from the outside, he could hear yelling and the crunching noise of an impact. A moment later, the door slowly creaked open. Hale's mother, ghostly and hollow, stuck her face through barely cracked door. She looked tired, starved, and beaten. Tears had made her eyes eternally watery.

"Oh." She murmured flatly. "It's you."

"Is Hale home?" He asked, not skipping a beat. At this, the weary wife started to sob again. She was clearly on a hair trigger for some reason. "What's wrong?!" Roger started to panic, "Is she sick?! Is she-"

"-She's dead."

"…" Wide-eyed, Roger froze where he stood. He looked down upon Hale's mother, brought to her knees by her own sorrow.

"She ran away from home after you left…" She cried, "And some…some idiot went and shot her. We didn't even get to see the body…a buckshot…I didn't even…she didn't even…oh god!"

Roger shook his head wildly, tangling his fingers into his hair. "No…no…NO! NONONO!" He screamed and shouted. Before the mother could get in another word, Roger ran, uncoordinated, off the property, unsure of which direction he was headed or where he was going. He was only certain of one thing.

This was _all his fault_.

Without thinking, he ran into that coffee shop she loved so much. She'd taken him there more times than he could think to count.

"Hale!" He hoarsely called, standing still in the doorway. Patrons turned to look at him in wonder, but none of them were the face he was looking for, so he sprinted back out. Crashing through the evening crowds, he called her name over and over and over again until his throat was sore and he couldn't speak anymore. There was no way she could be…it's not possible…Hale…

For a while, Roger wandered the streets aimlessly. He had long since lost his sense of direction. Which way was up? Which way was down? He couldn't even begin to guess.

He ended up in the alley way, of course. There was nowhere else to go.

He stood by his meaningless, scattered things and waited to start crying. It was the sky that started first, however. It was mocking him; adding insult to injury. Or, at least it felt that way. He shivered, but made no movement towards the umbrella at his feet, nor the coat in his hands. What was the point?! Let him get hypothermia, let him die of sickness.

He deserved it.

"you having fun there, boy?" a gruff voice asked. A tint of something hideous had wormed its way into his tone.

"what do you want?" Roger hoarsely, yet darkly, muttered. Hale's father; Mr. Griffiths.

"What are you looking for in this life, rat? I'm looking for something to make my company the greatest there ever was. Greater than the country itself." he hissed, stepping closer.

"I only ever wanted Hale." Roger said accusingly. He glanced up at her father from the corner of his eyes. Was he...was Hale's father smiling?! Smirking, even?!

Roger was beginning to understand why his wife was on a hair trigger.

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!" he shouted, rushing forward. He threw a punch at his disgusting, twisted face. It was easily halted with an outstretched hand. Now, Roger was completely vulnerable to any attacks. It's not like he cared though.

"I came to make a deal with you, boy."

"I don't want it!" Roger growled.

"are you sure about that?" Mr. Griffiths sneered, "we both have something the other wants, Mr. Williams."

"h-how do you know my name?!"

"I'm a very rich man, Roger."

"..."

Mr. Griffiths pushed Roger away, walking along the shadows which were cast do precariously over the alley. He reminded Roger almost of a cat, eerily peering from darkness to smile at his prey.

"What's your offer?" roger asked curiously.

"I can give you Hale. But, in return, you have to work for my company."

"Doing...?"

Roger ignored the fact that Hale was dead.

"Building these." Mr. Griffiths sifted through his suit pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of journal paper. "This is yours, correct? My wife found it in Hale's room."

"...I have no resources...no money..." Roger gawked.

"I will provide everything you need."

"you sick...are you insane?" Roger realized suddenly the twisted reality of things. If he was crying, the rain made it invisible. "She's...not alive."

"but she is."

"...what?!"

"I can take you to her, if only you manufacture these...AI."

Roger grimaced. He would do anything for her...even if fate was against him. Chances were she wasn't even alive, that Mr. Griffiths was lying.

Even so...

/Whatever it takes/

"I accept..." he admitted, defeated and tired of running, "I accept your offer. I'll do anything..."

Mr. Griffiths smiled, his pallid teeth gleaming in the odd light of the alley way.

"I always knew you would, Mr. Williams...or should I say, Dr. Williams. Welcome to gladiator."

They shook hands; a suspicious agreement.

And so, Roger began to pursue his heart by the means of using his head. It was never an easy task, or a definite one. He always thought, though...

...from the start, he always thought he would fail.

…**.**

**Right here.**

**From this point on, it gets angsty. If you don't like that….well, too bad. :D**

**Hoped you enjoyed this chapter though! It was the first one I wrote entirely on the go, on my IPod of course, so please excuse any minor grammar mistakes…Heheh.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading! Please review! PLEASE!**


	13. Chapter 13

**AGNHJYNBGFVCDSc**

**HI.**

**Guess who's been up all night, that's right I have. **

**Guess who's going crazy? That's right.**

**I am. **

**Anyway, enjoy this quick release. Over all, an uneventful chapter. Partly because I'm angry because Christmas songs are playing. Partly because I'm tired. And mostly because nothing is supposed to happen in this chapter. Just remember the minor queues I drop, and you'll be fine.**

**I promise.**

**NOTHING BAD IS GONNA HAPPEN.**

**Yet.**

…

HALE PROTOCOL

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Orientation

JUNE 1, 1930

"Dr. Williams, behind this door is your new home." Mr. Griffith's assistant exclaimed joyfully. Since his arrival at the building, Roger had discovered that not a thing prescribed to the man as his job was actually done by him. Instead, his chipper young assistant bounced around like a Yorkie, retrieving all his sticks for him. The assistant, Wilhelm, opened a large steel door with a smile. It creaked in protest, as if it had been waiting for a while. Roger followed Wilhelm in.

Machines and circuitry lined the walls, people in white lab coats bustled about. Wilhelm waved his arm across the scene enthusiastically.

"Don't you like it?" He asked.

"…yeah." Roger flatly responded, numbed by the awe of it all. How long had this lab been here? How long had this…?

His thoughts were interrupted as a pointed woman with flat, dark-brown hair strode up to them in high-heels, arms crossed and face scowling.

"Wilhelm!" she snapped angrily, "What are you doing down here? I told you last time; this is for…who's this?" The woman looked past Wilhelm curiously, staring, scrutinizing, at Roger. He had just worn his normal clothes today, just a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, and suddenly felt very out of place in this sea of suits and lab coats.

"Oh, this is Dr. Williams, the laboratory director."

"So, the mysterious Dr. Williams finally shows his face, eh?" The woman sneered, holding out her hand in introduction, "I'm Santha Merridew, lead scientist in the technology department for this project. I hope you prove more helpful than your reputation upholds you to be, Doctor."

He had a reputation already?

How long had they been waiting for him?

How long had Mr. Griffiths known he would come here?

"I hope so too." Roger shook her hand and looked around past her. People stared back at him.

The woman Santha cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. He snapped up, trying to look as official as possible. After all, he was their leader, wasn't he? He should at least pretend like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"So, what's the goings on here?" He asked above the clamor, "Have you been informed of our mission yet? Has anything been prepared?"

"Ah, yes." She answered, seeming pleased with his show of control, "Wilhelm, if you'd please excuse us. Send my gratitude to the chairman for his…delivery."

"Yes ma'am!" With that, Wilhelm was off. Roger followed the droning Santha around the lab. It was bigger than he had expected, with glass tubes full of strangely colored fluids, doors leading to other rooms he'd probably never see, endless tables, technicians he'd never have the time to consult. She picked up a clipboard from someone else's arms, checked off a few things, passed it to Roger for approval. She seemed very business-oriented. Roger decided that he would definitely need more people like her.

"-you know, when the chairman first brought me down here, I was quite surprised. You're younger than I thought you would be too, it's surprising that you are actually going to live here…I could never sleep with all this noise. I suppose, since you're in charge of this project, that it's necessary though. Oh, I have to show you that proton neutralizer we're working on! It's going well so far."

"Good." He commented flatly.

"Well, now that you're here, we can get straight to work….Hm? Is there something wrong, Dr. Williams?" Santha furrowed her brow. She looked perpetually angry, like the emotion was engraved into her stone face.

"I'm just really tired is all…" Roger sighed. Santha tapped her foot impatiently and beckoned him forward.

"Can't we work first?!" She demanded, "I mean, you're _three weeks_ late."

"Oh…well I…ok." He breathed in deep and followed her into another white-walled room, full of bright-eyed colleagues and bustling workers. Santha lead him to a cleared table, topped with blueprint paper.

"Well, let's get to work!" She said adamantly. Roger took up a pen from a small bucket and twisted it in his fingers. He felt utterly drained, but if this got him any closer to his goal...determination filled him like holy fire.

"Let's do this." He stated aloud. As he started to touch pen to the paper, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"You might need this." Santha handed him a white lab coat. He lifted it in one hand, feeling the weight of it. How long had he wanted this? How long had he yearned to be in this position?

Suddenly, he didn't want it anymore.

Either way, he slipped it on and reached in one of his pants pockets, pulling out the crumpled journal page from Hale's room.

"Everyone." He announced to the room, "I wish I'd had the time for formal introductions, however I don't have much time. So, let's begin. Today, we change the world."

….

Changing the world was hard work.

After a long day of brainstorming with his new underlings, Roger was dead tired. Santha had led him to a small white room underneath the facilities, containing nothing but a small bed, a desk and a corkboard. He pinned up a reminder in his mind to have a chair brought down here.

"Echo…" He muttered under his breath. Nobody answered. Without waiting another minute, Roger disposed of his coat in the corner and collapsed onto the bed, face first.

_Remember what brought you hear._

_ Never stray from that goal._

He brought a pillow to his face and hugged it tightly. For the next couple of months…years maybe…he'd have to be stronger than he'd ever been. He couldn't let any of this show to his workers…He could let his weakness show. For all they knew, Hale was dead. She didn't exist here. Just a figment of his imagination until the day he finally succeeded.

"Hale…" He whispered to the invisible echoes, "I'm coming for you…wherever you are…just wait for me, ok? I'm coming…I'll find you…"

…**.**

**SOOOOO. How was it? You like or not? **

**Also, I have a question for all you peeps. So, I was writing late into the night last night, waiting for black Friday sales and…you'll never guess what I started…**

**That's right.**

**A girl on the island fic.**

**Ok, so here's the sitch. As you may already know, I had a girl on the island fic on here a while ago, but I never speak of it because it sucked. I hated it, you hated it…So I took it down. But this one is much better, at least in my opinion…I was thinking of posting it…**

**BUT I ALREADY HAVE SO MANY FREAKING PROJECTS GOING….**

**What do you think I should do?!**

**Should I pont it or finish something else first….?**

**HELP.**

**Also, please review! AND NEVER SPEAK OF **_**IT**_**…ugh..**

**And, as per usual, thank you Melonkatze for reviewing every chapter I put up for this fic! You're the only one who does! MY HEART GOES OUT TO YOU AND YOUR DETERMINED READING-NESS!**


	14. Chapter 14

HALE PROTOCOL

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Shock

JUNE 14, 1930

"Is everybody behind the blast shield?!" Roger shouted one last time, shooting a cautious glance at the chairman. He was watching, along with all the rest of his head executives, in a room separated by glass. Roger, however, had to stay inside the test room, behind a blast shield, as well as Santha and a few others out of his major techs. He sighed nervously and stared at the proton neutralizer about a hundred feet ahead. Their test dummy today was yet another prisoner of the state…useless life, according to the chairman.

Roger held the communication button down, his voice coming through the loudspeakers above. "Proceed into the neutralization chamber. If all goes well, you'll be a free man by the end of the day." He lied. If all went well according to their machine's purposes, his atomic make-up would fall apart and he would implode in on himself. Roger shuddered. He hoped silently that something went horribly wrong. Santha, however, looked wickedly excited.

"Dr. Williams, give the signal when you're ready and I'll flip the switch." She grinned.

"Just wait until he gets in the chamber, Santha." Roger groaned.

"Just hurry up and give me the damn signal already! He's in the chamber!"

"You're so eager to take a life!" Roger raised his voice against her, and she shrunk back, "If you want to kill that bad, just press the fucking button already!"

"Sir…" Santha grabbed his hand. At first Roger froze uncomfortably. But then he realized she was just trying to move his hand off of the intercom button. He flushed pale white and looked away.

"Just do this. Get it over with already."

At this point, the doors on the proton chamber had already shut. The man inside had heard him, but it was already too late. While he screamed and smashed his fists against the Plexiglas doors, Santha hit the switch.

Everyone was quiet, except for the screaming man in his agony. Light coursed through his bones, and Roger held his breath.

The sound stopped.

"Roger." The chairman's voice was on the intercom this time, "Go get him."

Roger flexed his fingers testingly. With a shaky breath, he unfroze himself and walked out from behind the blast screen, carefully though, carefully.

"Dr. Williams, allow me." Santha walked ahead of him and pried open the sealed chamber doors. Steam wafted out, rolled across the floor. Roger leaped back.

"Sir, he's fine." Santha insisted angrily. Roger calmed himself enough to peer inside.

He was…older?!

"Something obviously went wrong." Santha, disgruntled, continued. "Personally, I never even thought you could age someone to this degree…although, we could control the aging process with just a little more research…"

The chairman slowly walked in, examined the newly old prisoner, and chuckled in amusement. "This is certainly an unexpected change of events." He commented drily. A few of the people accompanying him muttered with interest under their breaths.

"Doctor, what she we do with it?" Santha asked, referring to the machine, "Sure, it's a failure, but only technically. It could still be useful somewhere in the company."

Roger stared, biting his lip and trying not to shake. This was bad…this was bad…

"Destroy it."

He walked away without another word.

….

For a while after the experiment, Roger simply sat on his bed, biting away at his fingers. Something growled inside him, something overwhelmingly…powerful. Something that scared him.

"What's happening to me…" He muttered under his breath, laughing and grinning. Experimentally, of course. It was only natural…to feel insane…every once and a while.

"LOOK AT YOURSELF!" he screamed suddenly, jolting up and kicking over his desk. It fell to its side and splintered into a million different pieces. "WHAT ARE YOU BECOMING?! ARE YOU PROUD?!" He took the corkboard from the wall and flung it across the room. It cracked against the opposite wall. Everything…everything was white. It was driving him even madder; he felt like he was actually in an insane asylum instead of a lab. With a shock, he realized what he was doing. He returned to his normal self.

"Damn…it…" Roger fell to his knees in the rubble, trying to regain what little sanity he had. The pieces were all falling apart, tearing, coming asunder, but at the same time…something clicked. Something was coming together.

He didn't like it.

The door to his room opened with a creak. Someone started to descend into his quarters. He looked up. It was only Mr. Griffiths…the chairman of gladiator.

"Dr. Williams." He greeted ceremoniously, glancing at the mess Roger had made with keen interest. "I thought I'd find you here."

"What do you want?" Roger spat back. He hadn't meant to sound that volatile, but still it came out that way. The beast inside him was gone…he couldn't feel its presence anymore.

"Congratulations on your experiment's success." Mr. Griffiths responded.

"That was no success." Roger darkly glared at his superior, "Human experimentation is nothing to be trifled with…"

"Oh, but it must be humans for your project, Dr. Williams." He laughed, "You know as well as I do."

Roger scowled. "What do you want?!" He repeated.

Mr. Griffiths raised an eyebrow. Not in anger, no. But…curious. Something indeed was changing. "Come with me." He waved Roger forward. "I have…something…for you."

Roger followed.

The beast had left him.

…**.**

**THANK YOU FOR READING. It'll get weird really soon.**

**Anyway, thanks again for putting up with me! Please review! And Melonkatze/cocolada, you don't have to get on your hands and knees…XD It's already up, as you already know….**

**And…I'm your favorite cocolada?! R-really?! *Sobs in cormer* I DON'T DESERVE YOUR LOVE! ;-;**

**THANKS BYE!**

**And sorry for spamming the lotf page….THE WRITING FIRE IS IN ME! D: I HAVE TO WRITE! Waaaaah…..**


	15. Chapter 15

HALE PROTOCOL

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Gift

JUNE 14, 1930

Roger was led through countless doors in the lab, each one with a dwindling amount of people in it. They obviously were going deeper and deeper into 'authorized personnel only' territory. Misgivings coursed through his body. If there was ever a perfect place for a murder, it was here. Mr. Griffiths could do off with him and nobody would ever even know. He doubted anybody would care either, but it's not like that helped his case.

He didn't talk without being spoken to first, out of courtesy, which meant Roger didn't have to speak at all.

So the only consolation he had were these thoughts in his head.

Finally, they pushed through the last door. Roger stopped in his tracks.

"…H…ha…"

"I'll just leave you then." Mr. Griffiths dismissed himself calmly, "I'm sure you can find your way back. By the way, make it quick." Something in that last statement warned him of bad things that might happen to him…or someone else…if he stayed longer than he was welcome here. So Roger reminded himself to pay heed to them.

The door clicked closed.

"H..Hale…" Roger breathed. He walked over to the wall of perforated glass in the side wall. "Is it…really you?"

"Yeah." She answered quietly from the other side. "I'm here."

"…Are you sure?"

"I'm here."

There was a long pause. Roger pressed his hands up against the glass. On the other side, Hale sat on a small bench in a concrete room, beaten and bruised but still…alive. Living. Breathing. Tired.

Roger felt like his entire existence had been torn in two. One was where he stood, and one was on the other side of that glass. He might never get to it.

"God…Hale…" He sobbed suddenly, "I thought you were dead."

"No. I'm here." She responded despondently. She continued to stare at the floor for a while longer, then looked up at the glass weakly. She seemed detached. Like her own soul had been torn. Except hers had gone so many places she'd lost track. One for Roger, one for her family, one for her…one for…one…

"Say something!" Roger cried.

"I'm…Roger…" She smiled, "I'm here."

"I know that." He growled, frustrated, but still unwilling to admit defeat. "Something else."

"I love you here." Hale smiled and staggered forward, sliding down the glass barrier as she crashed into it. "Right here I love you." She patted her heart.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Hale." Roger stooped down to where she lay, running his hand down the glass where she had passed out, her breathing coming shallow and quick. "I'm gonna get you out." He whispered again, "Just wait for me. Wait for me…Wait."

** …..**

**SHORT CHAPTER IS SHORT. **

**Sorry for tha shortness. I felt like it couldn't be too long…**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND THANK YOU FOR READING!**


	16. Chapter 16

HALE PROTOCOL

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Longingly thinking of you

JULY 2, 1930

Since his encounter with Hale, Roger worked more furiously than ever. He was always at his desk, always at work doing something or other. The large corkboard hanging from the wall had been filled with molecular and chemical equations; too long to be safe, too short to be thought out, too complicated to be rational. Everyone upstairs mocked him and sent him nothing but jeering laughter for help. Roger never had been around more people in his life.

Nor had he ever been more alone.

"You…you can do this." He muttered under his breath sometimes, "She's there, she depends on you. You can't give up now…"

He truly believed it, with all his heart. Roger would think of Hale all the time, in all the fleeting free time he had. No matter what, that was the only constant he had in his life. She was the only string that held him to this ever-spinning earth.

He finished writing down something more, then slammed his pencil down onto the table triumphantly. He had it. He'd figured it out.

"SANTHAAAA!" He called, shouting up the stairs and hurrying around in a fury, "SANTHA! SANTHA! SANTHASANTHA!"

The door flung open wide at the top of the steps, revealing a rather infuriated-looking Santha at the top, with scalded spots all across her white cloak. Something told Roger that he'd interrupted something potentially dangerous, but he didn't care right now.

"What?! Dr. Williams, you could have just come up the stairs, like any one else would have, and fetched me yourself!" She shouted angrily.

"I got it!" he laughed, out-of-breath, "Santha, I got it! I got what I was missing! It wasn't the mind that was wrong-every equation in there, every component, all of that was all right-it was the heart! I got it! The heart and the blood! We have to keep the heart beating! We have to make-"

For once, Santha looked vaguely intrigued. "Make what?"

"Nanobots!" Roger pointed at her adamantly, "I need nanobots!" He started to pace fervently around his quarters, "I bet, if we could…no no no, that wouldm't work! Hm…."

"I think we have something already put together, sir!" Santha called down, "Come up and I'll show you. They're kind of old, but they might just work."

"Perfect!" Roger ran up the stairs and almost smacked right into Santha in his excitement. His energy had been completely renewed.

He had completely forgotten about the heart!

How could he have done that? Deep down within his own, he knew the answer. However, it was so hidden and remote that not even he could touch it. The truth was: He'd forgotten about the heart because he'd lost his own. It broke in two pieces, or more like shattered into a million tiny fragments of himself. He was yet a husk, and still he moved onwards. That was really his only place to go.

"Alright, so how do we go about this, sir?" Santha questioned eagerly, "First, I suppose we have to put together the brain, and then we decide on how to create living blood…then we insert the nanobots into it to carry out life processes…Oh! I bet we could even make them stronger than normal humans, huh?"

"That was…kind of the point, Santha." Roger frowned, glancing among shelves upon shelves of glass vials. Some had little creatures, silvery and pulsating, swimming through their midst. Santha prodded one with her finger, then picked it up and swirled the liquid inside gently.

"It's been a while since we had any ideas of what to do with these…" She trailed off, leering in at the little metal robots flitting inside.

"Well, now you know what to do with the little buggers." Roger huffed.

Santha wandered off with the vial, halting briefly at the door.

"Sir," She commented drily, "Should we all assume that you'll be working…downstairs on this endeavor, or are you coming to help in the lab? We really expected more help when you arrived at the company, you know, but you haven't been up here at all…what do you even do down there anyway? I mean, you send up the equations and the tests and you never oversee any of them…and then you just randomly appear up here in the middle of the night sometimes…I've even caught you in the restricted personnel area! No offense, Dr. Williams, but you even look a little young for this job. Should we be concerned?"

"I will be overseeing this project from now on." Roger muttered, staring deeply into one red crystal jar filled with little swimming, silver orbs. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm fine, Santha. This is something I have to do, and yes…" He glanced up at Santha from the vial, which he now held in his hands, inspecting it from all corners and angles in the fluorescent lighting. Through the jar, it made his eyes look a ghastly red hue. "I am a little young for this job. But, that's none of your business." He smiled at the last minute, making sure to soften the blow. This Santha character was a bit touchy, he knew from experience.

Santha turned to leave again, leaving Roger to his strange business. Just when he thought he was finally alone with his thoughts and let his guard down, Santha flung the door back open in a flurry. Roger jumped and accidently dropped the jar, splattering its blood-like contents across the floor. Santha stared at it curiously for a moment before looking back at Roger. He looked more his age now, with his walls lowered and the embarrassment painted across his face with a few spatters of crimson.

"Just…how old are you?" She asked curiously.

Roger looked up, startled, and grinned weakly. "If I tell you, will you promise not to tell?"

"Sure."

"I think I'm seventeen."

Santha pondered this for a moment, then, seemingly satisfied, she swung the door closed again and went about her own business.

"I think I'm seventeen." Roger repeated to himself, under his breath, while looking down upon the red liquid at his feet with a strange intensity. "If only I knew for sure."

Sighing, he too went along with this dreary life.

…**.**

**I DID IT :D**

**I updated this, finally! Aren't you proud of me?**

**It gets really interesting really soon, so I hope anybody still reading this (THAT MEANS YOU COCOLADA! XD) will hang in there! Thanks for reading and reviewing(If you do) and I hope you enjoyed! BYE!**


	17. Chapter 17

HALE PROTOCOL

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Failures and the Virtue of Tomorrow

NOVEMBER 2, 1930

The blueprints were set. A mighty hue they were as well, for none so fitted Roger's own mind like the wonderful color of blue. Quite a melancholy tone, at least he would think so.

Night and day, he worked endlessly in the lab. He slaved away his very mind, what remained of his heart; and as more and more 'subjects' were brought forth and disposed of by his hand, he could feel even that vice shriveling. So many failures had cost so many lives. Maybe there was no goodness left in the world after all, if criminals were being used ass lab rabbits and dying without anyone even knowing it. He had always pondered the thought, in the days before Hale when that alleyway was home. Perhaps he had been right all along. He sighed and set down a pair of medical scissors on the metal tray next to him. The surgical room was the palest of them all, with glass windows for observations. On another tray across from him, the remains of vital organs and frayed technology sat, sparking still.

"The subject is gone," He announced with a downward glance at the heart monitor, "We've...I've failed yet again." The mangled body in the operating chair seemed to agree with him, casting a crooked smile through a dislocated, slitted, bloody jaw.

"Back to the drawing board then." Santha sighed. The attendants around her dispersed at once. She had that quality of a true leader; the thing that Roger had not. In reply to her conclusion, Roger too checked the time and hurried away. It was almost curfew.

Because, this testing cycle was not the only occurrence in his life, as prominent as it may have been. There was a single spotlight, a ray of hope that shone upon his very existence, during the brief duration of the twilight hours; these were the moments Roger had been allowed to spend with Hale.

She was…getting better.

"Hey," He rehearsed as he walked through the endless back hallways, "How are you? I bet you're here, right? Yeah…" As he walked, Roger casually shed the walls people had come to recognize him for. They fell behind him, even now. It was a strange effect of the gradual tepidness of the walls, probably; how they gently changed from the lab-white to a dusty brown. The calm was almost tangible. Finally, as he pushed through the last metal door to where she was, the white lab coat came off, and he was just…Roger. Just how he should be.

Just as he was.

Hale looked up, fear mingled in her features, as soon as he entered. There was no telling who it might have been. Was it someone to darken her bruises? But…no. It was only him. And at that, she could calm herself just enough.

"You are here?" Roger greeted. Hale stood up on the other side of the glass.

"I am here." She asserted firmly, "I am here."

Where was here?

For a while, Roger simply took a seat, back to the glass and thinking. If there was anything this silence was useful for, it was the progression of thoughts.

There was, more so, a certain loneliness to it though. Like in every other condition of his day, there was that yearning for more. That one wall, destined never to come down, seemed to mock his very musings with its solidity. Suddenly, a chiming sound rang from the watch he'd been given. Roger stood up, shrugged his white coat back in place, and started on his way out.

"Have you been thinking about tomorrow?" Hale's voice, barely a whisper, stopped him.

"What?! I thought…" Roger's hands shook in his pockets. Had she found her words again?

"Have you been thinking about tomorrow?" Hale repeated, muffled by the barrier of glass, "I have. And no matter how many tomorrows come, I am here. Where will you be?"

Roger thought about this for a moment.

Then he gave his answer.

And he left.

"Always, I am here with you."


	18. Chapter 18

HALE PROTOCOL

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Letter

NOVEMBER 15, 1930

_Dear Hale,_

_This is what's come of my life…what have I become? What have I done? If there's one thing I regret, it's doing this to you. If there's one thing I could take back it's the wrongs I've done to you. Hale, I'm so very very sorry. If you ever read this, I hope you have it in your heart to forgive me. Hell, with the state of your mind lately, I would be lucky if you even remembered what we were._

_ I also have started journaling again for this reason: I've found lately that I'm even worse off here than I ever was alone. Nobody ever told me this would be so hard, Hale! I only wish I'd had some sort of warning, because boy do the fairy tales lie to us! I've seen more dead people than I could care to even count, and all for this…this unrewarding task I call a life. Each and every one has carved morbid memory into my cerebral cortex. It wasn't worth taking all those lives, which is why I've discovered an alternative, thank God. Instead of testing on criminals and such, taking massive steps towards my goal, I've decided to test only on myself with tiny steps. Don't worry, dearest, I would never do anything to actually kill myself; and I'm certainly no masochist. I just…couldn't bear to take one more life. Of course, my last experimental phase will have to be on someone besides myself, but until then…until your release, you and I now have a little something in common, huh? The only problem is that I MIGHT have accidentally stopped my aging process…or maybe I just slowed it. I don't know, alright?! Lately, I've been forgetting a lot of things. This is probably why I haven't been remembering to visit you at night. I'm sorry for that. Things have just been getting really out of hand in the lab. That Santha woman, she's one of my technicians, she's getting married soon so she's been out a lot. That leaves a ton of holes in out framework up here, because she does most of everything. Everyone else is either pulled aside for other projects your father has going or…I'm kind of nervous to talk to. I have to admit, I'm not the most social person. Although, you probably already knew that, huh?_

_ Hale…I haven't read that note yet. I probably should, but it doesn't feel right when you're not here. Also, is something missing? I feel like something's missing here besides you. I know it sounds so weird, but I feel like I'm forgetting something important, which isn't saying much due to all this amnesia lately, but this has GOT to mean something! Hale, there's a hole where you should be and there's some space left over and I don't know what it's even for! Is it for work, is it for a father or something?! This is driving me crazy! I just wish…I wish you were here to help me. I wish I could talk to you again, just once._

_ I wish you could tell me what's wrong._

_ Please, Hale, please get better soon._

_ I love you._

_~ROGER _


	19. Chapter 19

**WOAH.**

**It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry for not updating, I had a choir concert and then homework and then ACT that I didn't study for and probably failed. But, I needed to update this. NOW. It was the way I relaxed myself after a long day of testing. And THIS ENTRY IS DEPRESSING. JUST WARNING YOU. And the song in it is 'Can the Circle go unbroken' by some people I don't know.**

**Also, sorry for not updating Epic Party Time instead.**

**I'm stuck.**

**So, until then, ENJOY THIS.**

**Seriously, though, thanks for reading and please review! THANKS COCO FOR REVIEWING EVERY TIME!**

…

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTRY NINETEEN: Knew

NOVEMBER 27, 1930

Today was the day.

The day of the final experimental phase was upon him. Roger always thought fate would be gentler on him, that perhaps this day would never come. He certainly never thought it would be here this soon. It's one of those things that just seem so far away all the time that when it finally comes it takes you completely off guard. Even if he had been expecting it all this time…it was still weird and stomach-churning to now that it was now.

Santha woke him early in the morning, before anyone else was up. She helped him get ready, prepping the surgical chamber and cleaning all the surfaces. It was unusually silent, lacking the clanging and bustle of the workers. Though there were no windows this low underground, based on the drowsiness he felt Roger could tell it must still be dark outside. The white of the room sucked the tired right out of him though. It tricked his mind into thinking it was noon instead of three in the morning. Roger sighed and took the time to shine the surface of the equipment tray with the edge of his coat. Then, he moved the curtain of black hair out of his eyes and looked around. This was really happening.

Santha looked up at his gaze and cocked her head. She was performing maintenance checks on all of the AI equipment. The 'brain's' wiring was okay, the nanobots were in a secure environment, the bellows and motor for the 'heart' were in order. Even the tubing to create the makeshift veins and arteries had been set aside, ready to go. The only thing unprepared, at least in her eyes, seemed to be her superior. Roger stood aside, looking at some distant point and daydreaming. He rubbed his wrists, the back of his neck, the sides of his shoulders, almost obsessively. Little did she know, those were where his scars were.

"Dr. Williams," She snapped. He jolted out of his daydreams with a start. "You do realize that there is no going back after today. Sir, what we accomplish today will change the future! The war will be ours to win!"

"There is no war yet." Roger muttered.

"But there will be!" Santha urged, "Dr. Williams, we can stop it!"

"Or we could do nothing and instead kill off countless people for a lost cause."

"What's wrong with you?!"

"Santha…" Roger looked up and glanced her over with scrutiny. He frowned, apparently not too pleased with what he saw there. "I don't expect you to understand. You have everything…aren't you getting married?"

"Yes sir." She responded proudly, "I am. I'm keeping my last name though."

"See, you wouldn't understand…you wouldn't understand…"

Santha looked like a kid about to throw a fit. She grimaced angrily and left the room, stomping. Roger sighed and checked the time. Five o'clock. Only one more hour until the other technicians showed up. Then, after that, only thirty more minutes until the 'patient' arrived.

"_Can the circle be unbroken_

_Bye and bye, Lord, bye and bye_

_There's a better home a-waiting_

_In the sky, Lord, in the sky_

_Lord, I told the undertaker_

_Undertaker, please drive slow_

_For this body you are hauling_

_How I hate to see her go_"

The song was old, but it was the only thing that came to mind. It was a familiar song, and one that reeked of death. And, though Roger had never thought much about religion and such, he certainly thought deep within himself that there had to be a better place than this…anyplace was better than this world.

"How I hate to see _me_ go." Roger testingly sang to himself. It sounded better than the last version.

For the remaining minutes, he scraped his mind for any information he could. Anything he might have forgotten in his sorrows. He frowned, walked around, sang, juggled the scalpels, stuck his hands in his pockets, discovered he couldn't dance, even when he was alone, sang some more, jumped up and down. He did anything to try to relieve his nervous energy. When Santha finally walked in, Roger was karate-chopping an invisible beast in the empty space surrounding the chair in the center of the room.

"HEIYA!" He shouted, giving a kick when he was done. Santha squinted her eyes with judgment.

"Sir?"

"Wagh!" Roger stumbled back, trying to throw on as much of his professionally-oriented attitude as he could muster. For the time he was alone and let his walls down, he had accidently let his guard down as well. "Santha! Good to see you again!"

"Dr. Williams?" Santha asked, still puzzled, "Should I be concerned? Are you ready for this procedure?"

"I am now." Roger laughed breathily, rubbing the back of his neck. There was a little knot on his spine where he'd placed a microchip. It would sync him with the AI's mind, projecting the desired stats into his mind. It might prove helpful on the field too, if this project proved successful.

"Are you sure?" Santha asked again, just to reassure herself that she wasn't going crazy, that she really did just see her boss pretending to perform martial arts in his mind.

"Yeah," Roger stated, drawing the firmness back into his voice, "No better time like the present."

"Alright, then. I'll send in the techs. Let's get ready for a briefing, shall we?" She waved and exited once again, only to return a few minutes later with at least ten men and women in white lab coats; all different ages, all different experience levels. Where had they been for the past months? Hell if Roger knew.

Roger stood around uncomfortably as Santha and the techs conversed, smiles true on their faces. They were rather chipper, weren't chipper, weren't they? Although, he had been singing just a minute ago, so he couldn't really be one to talk. He shivered nervously, letting out one of those strange noises one makes when under great mental stress, and played with his hands. It suddenly felt very cold in the lab room. He couldn't stop shaking.

"Dr. Williams, tell us where the inspiration for this project came from!" Santha chuckled, drunken with social interaction. The co-workers around her nodded their approval.

"We're all dying to find out!"

"Later." He muttered.

"Eh…Okay." Santha replied, disappointed, "I guess the subject will be in momentarily anyway…"

"Leave the boy alone, Santha." An anonymous trench coat scolded. Santha backed down.

Minutes ticked away on the clock.

Roger could not stop them.

He felt utterly useless as the last-minute preparations were made on that cold, metal chair; fixed to the ground in the center of the room. Some examined the machinery around it on tables, the wires Roger had so carefully connected.

The door beeped and opened.

Everyone craned their heads to get a close look at the subject before two men deposited him from the stretcher he was carried in on to the chair. Everyone was silent with awe. Roger could only gawk in disbelief.

It was…he was just a boy.

"Dear Lord…" Roger breathed. He pulled on the edges of his white sleeves unthinkingly. "What the hell has this world come to?" Someone near to him left in a breeze, muttering something about having to go.

"Looks like he's gonna die anyway." Someone else said gruffly.

"…Anyway?" Roger repeated quietly to himself. He tossed the word around in his mind for a while, using the time to take in the brokenness of the young 'subject' with his eyes. He was, like had been thought before, just a small child, perhaps only six or seven. Blood soaked his clothes and drained from his mouth. A slick sheen of sweat had moistened his forehead and flattened his hair against it. However, it was still noticeably dark auburn, almost brown, in color. His breaths came in labored gasps and moans not too often. His eyes were closed. Just briefly, they flickered open.

Green.

He had green eyes. Just like…just like…

"Do we have a synopsis on this boy?!" Roger snapped, back to reality once more.

"Yes sire."

"Give it to me NOW." He ordered. In response, someone came forth and offered Dr. Williams a small manila folder. Roger's hands scrabbled and shook to pry it open. Some of the contents, most black with ink and elicited content, fell to the tile floor.

All but his picture.

And a name.

Simon Griffiths-Williams.

Roger dropped the folder. The rest of the contents splattered put along the ground in a mysterious sea. Simon's face smiled up at him from the photo.

"Where's he from?" Roger whispered.

"Come again?"

"Where's he from?!" He said, almost at a shout.

"We-we don't know!" Santha lied in a snap. She had been taken by surprise by this sudden change of attitude. "What the hell is with you?! We're running out of time, the subject's dying as we speak!"

Everyone was silent once more as Roger stared Santha down, venom in his eyes. It was a stand-off long overdue. Both were solid contenders.

"Subject?" Roger growled through clenched teeth, then louder, "SUBJECT?!"

"Yeah, so?!" Santha roared, "We've been preparing for this our whole lives!"

"No we haven't!"

Says you!"

"And what gives you the right to anything, huh!?" Roger screamed, his voice giving way, "I'm in charge around here! You didn't even listen when I told you to destroy that flash-aging equipment did you, Santha?!"

Finally, she backed off.

"No." she looked away, responding flatly. Roger kept on, asking his earlier question.

"Where'd he come from?"

Santha looked back up. The fire in her eyes had settled a bit, turning into just a smoldering coal. She blew a deep breath.

"The chair hit him with his car this morning…it was an accident, he says."

"He _hit_ him with his _car_?"

"That's what I've been told." She frowned and snorted disdainfully. If she were a younger child, she might have stomped her foot.

Meanwhile, Roger's anger-high had worn off. The emotions came back to him in a flood. Even the shaking returned, and the breaths started to hitch in his chest. He snapped his fingers and grabbed the edge of the surgical chair for support.

"Hook him up to the heart monitor." He ordered quietly, "Do we have painkillers? I'm going to need those."

"If you put him on painkillers he might…die." Santha rejoined them numbly, starting to flip switches on various machines. She didn't handle discipline very well.

"It's better than dying in pain if I fail." He thought for a moment, then, "Could somebody also take a blood test please?"

He watched as the commands were tediously carried out, a small vial of blood set on a metal tray somewhere else, a weak tick from the clock and an even weaker tick from the heart monitor the only proof of valuable time. Oh, time. If only he'd had more, if only he'd had more.

To make up for what time he'd wasted, he held Simon's hand as they cut him open and watched him bleed.

If only he'd had more time.


	20. Chapter 20

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTRY 20: Flood

_Dear Hale, _

_ Is that what you wanted to tell me that day?! That we were…that I was…God! I can't believe this! Just one more thing to regret! I'll always have one thing to regret, just one more, and keep adding them on! Damn…_

_ I'm sorry…don't think I'm mad at you, Hale. It's not your fault, it's mine. And I'm not mad at him either. To be honest, I'm actually quite upset with your father. He hit him with his car. Santha said it was only an accident, but that excuse is a little less than believable. Mr. Griffiths is just trying to destroy me from the inside out; that's why he took you, and that's why he let me have Simon's name._

_ He wants to see me dead. He'll do anything to do it._

_ Anyway, enough about that. About our son…Simon, right (Sorry if I forgot some things, this amnesia is getting worse and worse. As I write this, Santha's fetching me push-pins and sticky notes. I want to write down everything)? He made it, Hale. I'm so relieved and happy; I can't even express it in words. I finally did it. The project's far from over, but at least I managed to save him. Have you met him yet, Hale? He's perfect. He's just like you in every way. Well, he actually hasn't woken up yet so…I really haven't properly met him in person…every minute I can spare though, I'm with him. He'll wake up any day now. Honestly, I'll be glad to have the company. I'm nervous though. What if he doesn't like me? I hope I'll make a good father…what do you think? I know you would…you will make a great mother, Hale. _

_ Sorry if my handwriting's bad by the way. I don't know what's wrong with me lately. Not only is my memory terrible, but my eyesight's deteriorating for some reason. Maybe is hysteria or something._

_ Well, I got to go now. They need me up in the lab. Wilhelm broke something again._

_ I love you._

_ -Roger_

…**.**

**Yeah, yeah. Sorry about the shortness of this chapter, but the last one was pretty damn long, so I decided to make this one short and sweet and to the point. **

**The next one, yet again, will be long.**

**Also, you might have noticed that I changed the labels from chapter to entry. I'll eventually go back and do that with all the other chapters as well. It's for immersion.**

**Anyway, Thanks for reviewing, Coco! And, for anyone else who reads this, here's the answer to her question, just in case anybody was wondering.**

**Not that anybody else reads this, but, you know:**

**She asked: When did they have Simon?**

**I replied (This is copy-pasted right from my PM to her XD): WELL, WHEN A MOMMY AND DADDY LOVE EACH OTHER VERY MUCH...**

**No, no! Just kidding! I'm not sure if you meant when did Hale have him or when he was actually conceived, so I'll give you both answers :P**

**Anyway, if you go back through the story, you can pick up the tiny queues, for instance there's three chapters that all mention how hard Hale has been working with chores, specifically CLEANING SHEETS...gross, right? I'm glad I decided not to actually write in the nitty-gritty of THAT...*shivers***

**Anyway, you could also pick up some foreshadowing. How Hale seems to be mentally damaged is one sign. They operated on her to kill Simon, actually. That's what put her under so much stress and emotional pressure that she snapped. Also, the thing she was about to tell Roger on the balcony right before he went to the kitchen was that she was preggers XP The flash aging machine was a big give away too. I know one of my friends from school read that chapter and was like: WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT EVEN ABOUT?! THAT DOESN'T RELATE TO THE PLOT AT ALL...**

**And I was like: Uh-huh, it was. YOU'LL ALL SEE!**

**Yes, I hope that helps if you are confuzzled. CX**

**Write you later! **

**THANKS FOR READING AND PLEASE REVIEW!**


	21. Chapter 21

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTRY 21: TURNED

DECEMBER 1, 1930

A scar where the car had hit him.

What an awful excuse. And, quite honestly, as Roger sat by in that damned spinning chair, he thought that he might of come up with a better one. He sighed as he spun around and around and around and thought. He thought of things he regretted. They were numerous.

"Dr. Williams!" A voice barked, "What in God's name are you doing? Has all that time down in that filthy laboratory of yours driven you batty?"

"It's actually not that dirty!" Wilhelm chuckled. All this time, and he was still a dunce. He'd been here just as long as Roger had. He should've learned by now.

The whole room though, undoubtedly, was a flurry of excitement. A whole meeting had been called up in the age-old presentation room Roger knew so well. Except, this time he was sitting at the head of the table opposite to Mr. Griffiths'. His superior looked rather cross, as always. Roger had been trying to push down his hatred for the man. It seemed to be working so far, at least in public. Still, Roger couldn't stop spinning. It was addictive and unintentional, a sad consequence of such a silly chair design. Or maybe…it was probably just nervous energy.

"If you didn't want me to spin," Roger stated, "Then you shouldn't have put the damned thing up here in the first place."

"The problem has never occurred before." A gruff man in a too-tight suit commented. Roger didn't like his looks, even if he couldn't fully see him from the whirling images that assaulted his eyes from the seat. He chuckled once, made one last revolution, then stopped the movement abruptly with his foot.

"Well, now we know, don't we?" He shot through a half-smile.

"That's quite enough, Dr. Williams." Mr. Griffiths intervened, "Let's get down to business here. Unlike you, we haven't got all day."

"I never said I had all day." Roger scoffed, crossing his arms over his white coat and sinking farther into the plush chair. "Geez, what do you think I do? I have things to attend to today, so yes, I'd like to get started."

"Go ahead, no one's stopping you." A shiny bald man urged. Roger smiled and mentally shuffled his papers.

"Yes, fine." Roger started, "First off, I need to talk to you, Mr. Griffiths, about your new assistant, Wilhelm." He shot the chairman a dubious look from behind his ever-growing black hair.

"What about him?" Mr. Griffiths sighed, glancing at Wilhelm, who only laughed nervously.

"Yeah, could you stop letting him down into the lab," Roger droned, "He keeps breaking all our shit."

"I don't break any shit!" Wilhelm blurted out.

"You do." Santha sighed from where she stood behind Roger's chair. She had been originally thrilled to come for the conference, but now just sounded exasperated. She also sounded slightly embarrassed of her…boss.

"He breaks shit." Roger agreed, "We need that to further our studies."

"Could you stop with the vulgar language?" The tight-suit man insisted.

"Indeed." Mr. Griffiths stated, "But, I'll get that handled right away, Dr. Williams. Now, I can trust that that's not the only reason you called this meeting."

"Yes, you've never called one before." The bald man huffed.

Roger thought for a moment. That's right, there was_ that_. The real reason he had come here, in front of all the people who had previously ridiculed him. Sighing, he pulled the manila folder out of his lab coat and slid it into the middle of the maple-wood table. It spun to a stop, just like his chair.

"What's that?" Another man asked. He wore thick glasses that fell too loose on his face.

"That would be the synopsis on the young boy designated as my first subject." Roger threw his feet up onto the table top, sighing tiredly and allowing the distrust and anger to leak into his gaze. His voice, however, remained flat. He was still in control. "I've updated it with blood work, and everything I've managed to compile about him…of course, those records are only copies. Naturally, I'd keep the originals to myself."

"Naturally…" Mr. Griffiths smiled. It was a poisonous smile.

"Naturally." Roger agreed, shooting him an equally cruel smile.

The man with the dangerously tight suit reached up from his chair and flipped through the folder, glancing over each document carefully. Nobody else moved, but Roger could tell by their eyes that they were curious.

"What's this?" The man asked angrily.

"Those are medical records." Roger stated again.

"What does it mean?" The glasses man restated.

"Well, I've done many tests…all before the surgery, rest assured…and I've come to the conclusion that this Simon…what's his last name…"

"Understood." Mr. Griffiths growled, "Go on, Dr. Williams."

Roger laughed without humor and continued. He knew, naturally, that Hale's father would have to listen with what he brought to the table; both literally and figuratively.

"I wish to have complete custody of the boy." Roger demanded fire in his eyes as he glanced up, "As you can see plainly by the tests I've run…The boy is mine."

"What do you mean?"

"He's my son." Roger finally said. Santha let out a little gasp. He'd forgotten that he hadn't told her yet.

"If I'm allowed to ask," The glasses-man brought up, "who's the mother?"

"I'm afraid that's confiscated information…" Roger sighed, "Unless…Mr. Griffiths would deny me custody, then I'd be willing to give you the full story. Every. Last. Detail."

"This is borderline blackmail, Dr. Williams." Mr. Griffiths fumed, speaking in a furious whisper.

"And what you did to me wasn't?" Roger shot back, "For your information, I'm just trying to protect my family. I'm sure that under my circumstances, any of the men at this table would do the same…or women. My apologies, Santha."

"No problem, sir." Santha dismissed.

"Get out of my sight." The chairman looked away and growled angrily, "You can keep the boy, just make sure you keep up on all your objectives. And don't let this get to your head, Dr. Williams."

"Of course not." Roger stood up, collected his papers, and motioned for Santha to follow him on his way out. He smiled devilishly at the assistant as he walked out the door. "Wilhelm." He piped, a quick goodbye.

"D-Dr. Williams, see you around." He said back.

"I'm thinking not." Roger continued his power-strut out of the main lobby of the building, across to the metal door at the end of the hall that marked the lab; the big yellow sign that said NO ACCESS PERMITTED in bold black letters. Santha's heels clicked behind him. Deep in his chest, some freeing feeling was released. He sighed in relief, letting go of at least one worry. Simon was safe. Part of him could lay at rest now. The fire in his eyes died out, and was replaced with his usual lucid brown glow. He propped up against the door, trying to open it with his foot. Santha sighed and blocked the way determinedly. Roger stood back, confused.

"I just want to say, sir, with all due respect," she muttered, "that what you did back there to the chairman was really stupid."

"…"

She looked up and smiled half-heartedly all of a sudden. It caught Roger off-guard. "But you're stronger than I thought you were. Especially for someone so young…I don't know what you've been through, and I'm not going to ask…" She opened the door slowly and let him in, "However, I have a lot more faith in you now. I'd never be able to do what you just did."

"Th-thanks, Santha!" Roger laughed breathily, starting to descend down the stairs to the lab. Already, the walls were turning white again, "It really wasn't anything all that special…"

"Whatever." Santha was back to her normal self again as she briskly passed him on her way down to work, "Let's go check Simon's readings. If the calculations are correct, he should be up by a little past midnight tonight."

Roger stood up a little straighter as they continued down the path. "Yeah, I sure hope so."

Santha shot him a look. "You nervous?"

"H-huh?"

"People can read you like a book when you're like this." She scoffed, "…by the way, should I assume what you said in the conference room was confidential?"

This, again, took Roger off-guard. "You would do that for me?"

"So, it is." Santha nodded and pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs. She inserted her key-pass into a little slot by a metal detector quickly and kept walking forward. "I won't tell. What's yours is yours."

"Thanks."

"No problem, boss."

…

**Wagh! Long chapter again!**

**I hope you liked this chapter. I don't really have anything to say…so…yeah…**

**THANKS TO ALL YOU READERS. Special shout out to JUST ANOTHER BELEIVER for reviewing. THANKSTHANKSTHANKYOU! You guys have no idea how much I love writing for you. I love this story too. I can't wait until everything comes together, and I hope you share my enthusiasm! Please share your feels in the reviews! I WANT TO KNOW YOU FEELS! XD **

**Sorry for being weird…**

**Anyway, thanks once again!1**

**ALSO: disclaimers…I'm not named after the chef. I'm not a lesbian. No, the chef is not my mother. If you don't know what I'm talking about, sorry. It's just that I've been getting some weird questions from friends recently about being named after Cat Cora, who's apparently a lesbian chef? Correct me if I'm wrong here, guys. I don't watch cooking shows…but, be assured, I AM NOT A CHEF, NOR AM I LESBIAN. XD. I have nothing against lesbians, I am just not one myself. SORRY FOR ANY CONFUSION**

**Write ya later!**


	22. Chapter 22

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTRY 22: Sign Me

DECEMBER 1, 1930-DECEMBER 2, 1930

In the silent operating room, in the dead of night, Roger sat and waited. Santha and her infrequent questions, along with the beeping of the heart monitor, were his only companions.

"What's it feel like?" Santha asked vaguely.

"Hmn?" Roger moaned, heavy with sleep. He checked his watch, then dropped his arm again. 11:54.

"Being you…what's it like?"

"My life…" Roger thought for a moment, slowed by his drowsiness, "I feel like I'm playing doctor…like I'm an actor in some tragedy. One day, I'll wake up and this will all be a dream."

"Hm."

"That answers your question?"

"Yeah," She breathed, "Thanks."

The room was once again plunged into uniform, perforated silence. Every once and a while, Roger would nod off; every time, Santha would just let him fall out of the chair to rouse him. Maybe it was because she didn't know, or maybe it was because she was just Santha. By 12:05, Roger was sore from bruises. He checked the vital readings, all the signs. No change.

"Sir, get to bed." Santha sighed, "I can watch him."

"No." Roger insisted, "I'm not tired."

In all reality, he couldn't possibly be tired. At least not in his mind, which fought with his body mercilessly. Each wanted to control him, one needed rest and the only needed it just as bed, but was uneasy and not able to at the moment. Roger could feel his body's stronger pull however; it stole his recollection away.

"Santha." He snapped his fingers quietly, "Sticky notes. I need sticky notes." Santha's heels clicked on the cold tile floors as she crossed to the cabinets and flung them open in search of sticky notes. She returned a moment later with the coveted sheets. Roger peeled one off the top, pulled a pen from his pocket, and sloppily scribbled a name one it.

'SIMON'

He stuck it on his forehead and slumped back in his swivel chair; he'd brought it up from his room. Roger checked the time again. 12:10. Hale would be missing him.

"Uhh…sir…" His co-worker piped up, confused.

"You're dismissed, Santha." Roger smiled tiredly at her from his seat, "Go home, okay? You deserve a break."

"Are you sure…?" She looked torn.

"Yes." Roger thought it over a moment, then, "I'd prefer to be alone anyway. Thank you for staying so late."

"Understood." She did a tiny bow before collecting her things and taking her leave, "Good luck, Dr. Williams."

"…thanks."

With Santha gone, the door shut firmly behind her, the room felt even emptier than before. Roger felt the nervousness crash into him like a tidal wave. It had been subdued around the presence of others, but now…It was that awful, gut-twisting strength, the feeling of giving a speech to your peers, knowing you might be ever-so-slightly unprepared; putting yourself before them for judgment and humiliation.

"What will I say…" He murmured to himself. Roger resisted the urge to spin por pace. It was a bad habit of his. "What if he doesn't like me…what if he hates me?" Had he been any more energetic, Roger would've been pulling his hair out. Instead, he focused all his energy and mind on the young Simon, still sleeping on the reclined surgical chair. It was with a strange curiosity that he now did so; like a child peering at lights on a Christmas tree. Wonder and awe flickered off every facet, reflected in his eyes as twinkling lights and a star.

"Simon…" He whispered testingly to himself, "Simon Griffiths-Williams."

12:20. If Simon heard his father's mutterings, he made no sign of it. His bed-clothes shivered slightly as he breathed, hands curled up to his chest. Roger took the time to re-adjust Simon's auburn hair so that it covered the scar right behind his temple. That was where they had cut him. That was where he'd bled the most. With a jolt, Roger remembered that part of the procedure. He'd been so scared that they'd lose him…

Why am I so scared, Roger thought to himself, am I really taking this so seriously? I don't even feel like a father.

"Get a grip." Roger ordered himself, breathing in deep and leaning back in his chair.

12:30.

The heart monitor spiked and Roger shot up and out of his chair. It was only a natural spike…he sighed…at least for the machine that was his heart. They couldn't have made it perfect, as hard as they tried.

12:35

This was…a new day. Roger held his breath and leaned over the arm rest of the metal chair before him. He could've sworn now that he just heard noises.

He knew that Simon was technically seven…but…Roger couldn't help but feel as if this was Simon's first day on earth. Like this was a maternity ward and not some unknown lab hidden underneath a cruel company that wanted only his destruction. Here, in this moment, he could forget that anyone was truly a threat to him. All that mattered was that he protected Hale and that little being curled on the chair. His world was being re-arranged, making room for a new purpose. Just one more…one more…and keep adding them on…He suddenly wished Hale was here. Just imaging the look of happiness and fear mingled in her expression filled him with yearning for normal days.

12:37

"Hale…" He sighed longingly. At the word, Simon began to stir. His face, previously blank, contorted into something else altogether. Thought, maybe? No…protection? Though, a little bit stronger than that, certainly. Roger reached out and took the time to brush the hair out of Simon's eyes again; it had fallen into his face again. The contact sent the heart monitor screaming. Roger drew back in alarm, like it had bit him. His chair rolled back a bit and spun in squeaky circles; he didn't let his hands or feet break the boundary of the seat. Only when it stopped. Then, and only then, did he risk moving.

His eyes were open.

They were green still, thank God. Exactly like Hale's.

Roger panicked. He didn't know what to say!

"H-hi." He stammered, wide eyed and squished into his chair. Afterward, he hit himself mentally. What a stupid first thing to say!

Simon didn't move for a while.

"Can you speak?" Roger asked curiously, setting his feet on solid ground once more. He felt so light that he might float away. Simon paid no mind to the question though, instead sitting up unsteadily, taking the time to move his fingers. He stared at the outstretched hand as if it weren't his, and didn't belong there; a numb, subdued type of wonder.

"Can you speak?" Roger repeated quieter. Not that it mattered to him or anything like that…Simon's gaze turned slowly to Roger; his father shrunk back.

"I…am here…" Simon flatly replied. His voice was so tiny. Roger's breath caught in his chest. He gripped his own chair with shaking hands.

He'd done it.

Simon pointed at him, directly in between his eyes. Roger froze.

"You have a thing on your face." Simon blurted out.

"Ah!" Roger remembered the sticky note again with a start, and scrabbled at it until it floated off his forehead. He tried to catch it out of the air, but ended up just falling face-first onto the tiles. His vision must have been getting really bad. To add insult to injury, the crumpled paper plopped down right in his line of sight. Sighing, Roger blew it away and rolled onto his back. Simon was peering over the handrails of his chair. The heart monitor kept a steady pace with his heart, interrupted only by some foreign sound tinkling in Roger's ears.

Was he…laughing? Simon was laughing!

Before he knew it, Roger was laughing too. It was the first time on such a long time, and it wasn't solving anything, but it still felt amazing to release all that pent-up emotion somehow.

"You're kind of funny." Simon commented when he was done. Roger hauled himself back to his feet, groaning with the effort. He realized again how tired he was.

"I know, I'm kind of stupid too." He whispered breathily, mussing Simon's hair up a bit. It only seemed natural. Every other happy family he'd ever seen walking down the street did that. "Do you know who I am, Simon?"

"No, but you look familiar. Where am I?" Simon looked around, "What happened? Is my mum alright?"

Roger stopped where he stood.

So…he knew Hale.

"Hale…your mother…she can't be here." He said, feeling his heart twist, "Where have you met her before?"

"She's in a small room like this." Simon explained, confused, "I have to be there. I need to fight the bad guys."

Roger's interest was peaked.

"Let's talk about that later." He suggested, yanking the wires from Simon's head and shoulders. The monitors shrieked in protest. "It's too late tonight. I've been waiting a long time."

"Why?"

"That's a hard question to answer." Roger sighed.

"Who are you?"

"You talk a lot for someone who just died." Roger blurted out angrily. He regretted it instantly. Simon looked horrified.

"Wh-what?!" He cried.

"No! No no no!" Roger stammered to comfort him. This was so much harder than he thought it would be. "There's obviously a lot we need to talk about! Um…but…that can wait! Let's just go! Okay?!"

"Go where?" Simon demanded.

"Stubborn." Roger said through gritted teeth, "He must get that from you too, Hale."

"Why are you talking about mom like that?!" Simon shouted, "You don't know her!"

"I do, actually!" Roger shot back, "I've known her a lot longer than you!"

"Who the hell are you!?" Simon shrieked. Roger whirled.

"Hey!" He rebuked, "Watch your tongue, young man!"

"You can't tell me what to do…" Simon settled back down again, crossing his arms angrily over his chest. "Who do you think you are?"

Roger relaxed himself. He was forgetting about everything he'd worked so hard for…that Simon was actually his son and not some brat. Once again, the feeling from before wrapped itself around him.

Simon was his responsibility now.

He couldn't screw this up.

"I don't know how to say it." Roger admitted aloud, "What I really am…I don't want to say it now, because honestly, I'm terrified you'll hate me."

Simon took this with scrutiny. He didn't know what to make of it.

"What happens if I trust you?" He squeaked, "Will you take me to see mother?"

"Yes." Roger sighed, relieved, "You'll see her tomorrow…well; I guess it's today now…" He slammed a fist onto the back of his neck, where the knot was. That should've synced him with the date, for goodness sake.

"Fine…" Simon yawned. He rubbed his eyes. "Just as long as you promise…you promise…"

"I promise."


	23. Chapter 23

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTTRY 23: Beast

DECEMBER 2, 1930

The glass beaker clinked as Roger set it on the counter once more. Lining the walls on various shelves were others of the kind; some bubbling, others still, some that spewed mists as if they contained tiny volcanoes. Since it was a Sunday, Santha was the only one in. She stood back a few feet, adjusting large plastic goggles on her face. Shakily, Roger picked up a second beaker, full of some red, volatile-looking substance and poured it in the first.

For a while, nothing happened.

"Santha," Dr. Williams started, "This new coolant is on its way to success…now if only we could stabilize the-"

A little plume of fire and smoke erupted from the beaker suddenly with a thunderous roar. Roger dropped the second beaker in surprise and it shattered. He froze where he was.

"…atoms. Hm." He finished. Roger rubbed the soot out of his eyes and glanced down at the remnants of the beaker carefully. Santha rejoined him, lifting up her goggles to get a better look. On the black surface spent at least half of my life in a library." Roger answered. It was true. Science had always been his passion; even as a young boy…although, he never in a million years thought that _this_ would ever happen to him. Suddenly, he looked up.

"Simon?" he called, "You still watching?"

No response. Roger let the room fall silent.

"Simon?!" he barked. Santha rolled her eyes knowingly beside him, then scratched something onto the clipboard she always carried with her.

"O-over here…" A tiny voice sobbed across the room. Roger vaulted over the counter, much to Santha's protests, and whipped around, looking for the source. He looked down as a small hand reached out from under the table and grabbed his pant leg. Then, realizing what it meant, he knelt down and brought himself to Simon's level.

The little boy under the table looked up at him through impossible tears. Roger couldn't help but to focus on the scar.

"Wh-what's wrong?" He stammered, "Does your chest feel funny?! Are you going into fibrillation, because I don't know how to perform CPR!"

"No…" Simon whimpered. Little trails of neurons and wires carved themselves behind his eyes. It should've been impossible for him to cry…it was difficult enough for Roger to duplicate the human emotional spectrum; and quite honestly it he was asked to do it again, he probably wouldn't be able to. While he was pondering, Simon crawled out from under the table. The boy wrapped his arms around Roger's arm, who till was confused about his role in situations like this. He tensed up.

"I-I'm sorry…" Simon sobbed into his sleeve.

"For what?!"

"I switched your compound coolant mixture with lithium and fluorine!" He rushed to get the words out of his mouth. It was Simon's first day in this place, and already he was causing them trouble…why?

"Um…"

"And I tried putting Ytterbium in Lady Santha's purse!"

Roger had to stifle a laugh.

"He WHAT!?" Santha screamed, "That's radioactive! It could have killed me!"

"Don't yell at him, Santha." Roger smiled light-heartedly. Honestly, he wanted to congratulate his son for trying something so deviously ridiculous, but…Simon was unstable as of now; Roger didn't want to risk blowing out any circuits. Plus…he felt uneasy. Like this wasn't Santha's place to be intervening. Even if what Simon tried to do was wrong…

"Like hell I'll yell at him!" Santha objected, "This is my _life_ we're talking about!"

"I'm sorry!" Simon repeated, muffled by Roger's lab coat. Roger put his arm around him.

"He said he was sorry, Santha, now-" He tried to warn in vain, and was instead cut off.

"I swear, I'm never having kids!" She raised her voice angrily, "This is the third time today he's screwed something up, _and it's not even noon_!"

"Goddamnit, Santha!" Roger rushed to his feet and looked her straight in the eyes. It was a cold, desolate place. "Don't you talk to him like that! Don't even talk to _me_ like that!"

"Somebody has to!" She insisted, "You can't just let him run wild! Put him on a leash or in a cage, something! This is a _lab_, not a daycare center!"

Simon got up and went to stand by Roger, but was quickly brushed off as his father walked forward. A dark air had enveloped him. If you looked close enough, an almost red hue had glinted in his eyes. Only for a second though, so that it hadn't even been noticeable at all.

He would never hurt a girl. He swore he would never do that, from the first time he witnessed it himself on the streets. He wouldn't be reduced to that level. But, as he grabbed Santha by the collar of her shirt and jerked her up, raising his fist in the air, he couldn't help but feel that this was an exception.

"Don't you talk about my son like that." He demeaned. Roger looked into her eyes. They were actually…afraid. Of him…

Even Santha was human. The realization hit him and he dropped her, crumpling to the ground.

_What's wrong?_

He gripped his head, ensnaring his fingers within his black hair. Roger couldn't remember how to breath. His head hurt.

_Can't you protect him?_

The voices on the outside were muffled and unreaching. Roger desperately wanted to break free of this spell. He couldn't let Santha hurt Simon. He had to protect him. He was all Roger had left…

_Are you scared?_

"Yes." He whispered back. He gasped as the real world flooded back into him. The breath was available to him again, and he could hear everything going on. Santha was crouching on the tiles in front of him, Simon was nowhere to be seen.

"Sir, sir?" She had his shoulder, trying to shake him back to life, "Are you okay? Dr. Williams!"

"Huh!?" Roger snapped back up. The memory of everything he'd just revelated on was yanked from under him. "What happened?"

"You were talking to yourself…after you tried to…" She stepped back, wide-eyed, and rubbed her neck cautiously, "You were talking about ways to kill me."

"I was?"

"Yeah…"

"Wait!" Roger jumped to his feet at once, "Where's Simon?!"

"He ran into the Authorized Personnel door as soon as you fell." Santha waved poff, though she still looked rather cross.

"Damnit!" He ran off as well, leaving Santha on her own. She glanced around the disquiet lab through narrowed eyes, then let out a sigh.

"I-I'll just take the day off then…"


	24. Chapter 24

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTRY 24: CONFESSIONS

DECEMBER 2, 1930

Roger fought to catch his breath as he ran through the doors in the long hallway. He didn't check behind him to make sure they shut; there was no one there anyway, so it wasn't worth his time. Instead, he focused his mind on the strange noise his shoes made as they met the polished tile, and _why the heck_ Simon decided to run all this way. As he pushed through what had to be the seventh door, Roger doubled over and clutched his sides. He_ really_ needed to get out more.

"I…need…a treadmill…" He gasped, reaching out to lean against the wall.

"Why don't you just make one?" A stifled voice accused from behind him. Roger turned around slowly, and saw Simon there. His tiny hands were balled up into fists, white at the knuckles. Swirling green emotions spilled over. "Just like you made me."

Roger sighed and fell back against the wall, sitting on the cold floor. He re-adjusted himself uncomfortably and looked down.

_Are you ashamed?_

"What can I say?" he answered helplessly, "I…I had planned on telling you…so many things…How did you find out?"

"When I hacked the network to get into the doors, your files were there," Simon cried, "Just waiting for me…"

"You can't be blamed," Roger tried to explain away, "Your programming is new and you're bound to be reckless…you can't help it…I-"

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

Roger took a deep breath. "Simon, it's so hard to explain. You…wouldn't understand. You probably want to know…why…I…"

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Roger was taken aback by the unknown passion thrumming in the boy's voice as he shook the tears and hair out of his face. Simon gasped and continued, "You know what I'm talking about!"

"You say a lot for a six year old."

"And you say not enough for a grown-up!"

"I don't have a lot to say."

"You don't have anything to say?!" Simon accused again, "Nothing at all?!"

"That's…not true." Roger admitted weakly, looking away again. He couldn't bear this. He couldn't stand to be sitting here, interrogated and bested by his own son. Clearly, Simon was the better man in this situation, he thought, and it wasn't supposed to be that way.

"What then?!" Simon shouted, "TELL ME!"

Roger tried to form the words, but just came back with a tongue that couldn't remember the motions that formed them. He looked back up, wide-eyed and lost. Simon sobbed uncontrollably.

"Mother told me enough about you…" he got out, "That I should know…who you are…"

"I…I…can't…can't be what you need me to be." Roger finally came up with. It wasn't what he had intended to say, but it was definitely what he meant to say. "I can't be what she needs me to be. Hale is…all this…because of me…and my stupid mistakes…"

"Is that what I am?!" Simon teared up more, "I-I'm just a mistake? A stupid mistake?!"

So…he knew.

_ He knows that you're his father._

_ Are you honestly that surprised?_

"No." Roger whispered, "Simon…you're not a mistake. I'm the mistake…"

"I'm supposed to _believe_ that?" Simon whimpered. He was getting weaker already, Roger could see. The brief energy high from the temper-tantrum was waning.

"Not if you don't want to." Roger responded distantly. He drew his knees to his chest and buried his face in them.

When had his life gone so wrong? When did this happen? Why was it him? How did he deserve this? He wasn't angry at Simon. He wasn't angry at Hale. He wasn't even angry at Mr. Griffiths.

He was angry at himself.

"I so selfish…" He cried faintly, "I'm so sorry…please forgive me…Simon, please forgive me…"

"Okay."

Roger snapped to attention. "Wh…what?"

"I said okay." Simon repeated quietly, "But you still have to keep your promise."

"Si-"

Before Roger could get out a full response, or even think of anything acceptable to say, Simon had rushed forward and wrapped his arms around his neck. Roger wasn't sure to return the hug, or just leave it. Indecisive, he froze on the ground where he was, unbelieving.

"Mother was right." Simon said, burying his face in Roger's shoulder, "You're too soft to stay mad at."

"She said that?" Roger almost laughed, pleasantly surprised that Hale had said anything in the past…what was it…a year now? How long had he been in this place? He didn't know anymore. "She's still the same…"

"You make her happy when you come to visit her." Simon admitted, "I never understood why…because they'd always take me away before you came. I think I understand now…that there can't be a mother without a father too."

"You've got it flip-flopped though, Simon." Roger muttered through a smile, "She made me more than you know…she made me who I am today."

"She made you weird?"

"No, she made me Roger."

**...**

**So, there's not very many chapters left. We're more than halfway done with this Fic. I'm not sure how I feel about that yet, because I REALLY love this fic. This is...this is like my life right now. I can't wait until the last few chapters though. I love those ones. They're always the best and most emotional to write.  
**

**Any thoughts on this fic so far? How do you feel about it ending with thirty chapters and a epilogue? Maybe thirty one chapters...or maybe just two epilogues, we'll see XD  
**

**Anyway, thanks for reading, and if you would please, Review. I love your feedback. And, yes, I know these last few chapters have been mildly sucky and highly emotional, but bear with me. It's almost over, then you can forget it ever happened. And,also thanks to COCOLADA for reviewing again. I'm not going to answer your question/feeling about the ending though because it's a surprise. And, you'll find out soon enough... ;D  
**

**I ALREADY HAVE THE SEQUEL PLANNED OUT.  
**

**THAT'S RIGHT. THERE'S A SEQUEL.  
**

**If you've read LotF: Apocolyptica, and I'm assuming you have if you're reading this, then you know who the black caps are, correct? The sequel to this is yet another prequel to that fic, and it follows the Black Caps on several of their missions prior to the events in AP. It might not be out immediately after this one ends, which I don't think will be a problem considering nobody cares.  
**

**Just Kidding.**

**But really...  
**

**Anyway, thanks for Reading! I appreciate every view! Also, thanks for putting up with my cynical-ness today. It's near mid-term time. I'm naturally going to be in a bad mood. XD  
**


	25. Chapter 25

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTRY TWENTY-FIVE: Family

DECEMBER 10, 1930

"Lady Santha, could you get me a stool?" Simon pleaded nicely. Santha frowned down at him in what appeared to be disgust.

"No. You can get it yourself."

"Okay then." Simon wandered away from the bundle of wires he'd been working on and began rummaging through the supply closet for something to stand on.

"Wait!" Wilhelm exclaimed, "I'll help!" He dropped Santha's clipboard as he stumbled over to the closet. The dark-haired female assistant retrieved it angrily, brushing it off.

"Wilhelm!" Roger finally broke in. Under the mass of circuitry, computer, and wires, he lay on a trolley and fixed equations in his head. The soldering iron in his hand dripped molten liquid on his lab coat. He swatted it off and rolled out from his work. "Weren't you listening? Stop breaking our shit."

"Yeah," Simon agreed, "We don't need your help breaking it. Our shit breaks on its own."

"And you need to stop swearing so often."

"Sorry, da."

Santha strode briskly over to the supply closet and yanked Wilhelm up out of the mess by his collar, while Roger got to his feet and dusted himself off.

"I thought we told you to go away." She sternly said.

"Hehehe…" Wilhelm laughed uneasily. Santha tended to have that effect on people. "I just have a delivery!"

"What is it?" Santha sighed. Meanwhile, Simon had discovered his stool, and was busy dragging it from the tangle of mess in the closet. The legs emitted a terrible screeching as they were drug across the floor. Roger picked it up and moved it himself.

"Thank you."

"No problem, kiddo." He mussed up the side of Simon's hair ritually and joined Santha by Wilhelm. "What seems to be the problem?"

"He says he has something for you." Santha explained, placing her hands on her hips. "I think it's time for a restraining order."

Roger turned to Wilhelm. He looked unusually cheery. "What do you have?"

"Ah!" He dug around in his pockets a bit before pulling out two small cases; both were of different shapes and colors. "Your prescriptions came in."

"Oh, thanks." Roger said, taking them gratefully, "I've been waiting for these. Now, you better leave before Santha bites your head off."

Yes sir!"

"HEY!"

"And send my…thanks…to Mr. Griffiths." Roger added as Wilhelm ran towards the exit.

"No prob!" Wilhelm slammed shut the door. Santha sighed.

"He drives me crazy." She stated. Roger wasn't paying attention, however. Santha was starting to feel as if he never paid attention. She pointed to the received goods with a pen. "What's that?"

"Something to help my eyes, something to help my mind." Roger replied. Carefully, he popped open the bigger of the two cases and revealed its contents: A pair of frameless glasses. He unfolded them and placed them on her face. It took Roger a moment to adjust to the drastic change in perspective. "Wow." He commented, "Santha, is this how normal people see? I would've never known."

"I feel as if this should worry me." She shot back with a sigh. Roger hissed once through his teeth and went back to work. "Santha, could you slide me that paper on the table?"

"There's a lot of papers on the table."

Simon jumped off his stool and joined Santha by the small round table in the corner of the room. He grabbed a sheet or journal paper, scribbled over and yellowed with age. Clutching it tightly, he crawled under the entanglement of wires and handed it to his father.

"Thanks, Si." Roger smiled.

"You're welcome."

Santha ducked and stared up at the twinkling chords, frowning deeply. The sparks from the new tool Roger held, a welder, flashed off her eyes.

"What is this?" Santha asked curiously, "I haven't been in this room…"

"I called you here because Mr. Griffiths wanted a witness to the next phase of our journey." Roger winced in pain as he sliced through his finger as well as three wires. He slid out of the trolley once more and stuck the wound against his lips. He spoke around it, muffled. "There are many phases, you know."

"What is it?" Santha repeated.

"A brain for the computers." Roger showed off the paper with his free hand, still nursing his cut on the other, "It's personal and absolutely unique. I call it, the GlaSIS."

…..

Lately, Hale had been pondering. She'd been thinking a lot, actually, about a few things in particular; the things that meant the most to her.

So, when Roger and Simon cane to visit her, she knew exactly what she would say. She brought her single chair to the front of the glass barrier, tried to fix her hair, and sat down with her hands in her lap.

She may have been condemning herself, but she would do so as a proper young woman. The door opened slowly, and the all-too-familiar faces peeked through. Hale put on a smile.

"There's my boys." She greeted quietly, which was the loudest voice she could muster, "How are you, Simon? Well, I hope."

"I'm doing fine." Simon responded, "Daddy got new eyes today."

"He got…new eyes?" Hale repeated worriedly.

"He means glasses." Roger chuckled, shrugging off his coat, "My glasses and…well, my glasses came in today."

"Oh. That's good."

"Yeah, I guess." He frowned as he rolled a swivel-chair over to face Hale. He sat down, and Simon climbed in his lap. "But enough about me. How are you?"

"I am here." Hale looked down at her hands solemnly, "As long as I'm alive…right?"

"Yeah?" Roger sighed, slumping in his seat, "I suppose so."

"Mom, I miss you." Simon piped up.

"I miss you too, baby." She responded.

Roger turned his head to the side a bit. There was something off today about her. Something screamed at him that she wanted to say something…he looked her sternly in the eyes; naturally, she averted her gaze.

"Simon." Roger ordered, "Go wait outside for a minute. Your mother and I need to talk alone."

"But…da…"

"No buts." Roger scolded, "Now, shoo."

Downtrodden, Simon sighed angrily and kicked up dust as he left, casting an upset glare towards his father before he shut the door loudly behind him. Roger turned back to Hale, her expression obscured by the glare of the harsh light on the glass.

"What's wrong, Hale?" He demanded, "You're acting strange."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Something's wrong!" Roger shouted, practically jumping from his seat. It rolled backwards as he did so.

"Roger, please…"

"No, Hale, you!"

"Roger…I…"

"Stop it!"

"Roger!" She hoarsely yelled back. It was enough to keep him quiet. It was the very first time she had been able to raise her voice since she had been brought here. "please just stop." She sobbed, "Please, stop."

"What…what are you talking about?"

"Please, please just save yourselves and leave me here." Hale pleaded, shaking sickness and emotions, "I'm happy that you're happy and as long as Simon's safe…I'll be okay."

"No!" Roger slammed a fist against the glass. Hale looked up, shaken and wide-eyed. Her thinned hair hung in her face at awkward angles. She looked dirty. "Hale, you have no idea how far I've come! You have no idea how hard I've worked for you!"

"I know enough to know that it's changing you!" She shot back.

"I'm just trying to make a life for us!" Roger explained away, "Look, Hale, when we get out of here-"

"-When you get out of here." Hale stopped coldly, "When you get out, Roger. We both know I'm never leaving." Roger backed away, anger and certain madness carving its way into his features. He was on the verge of exploding. He was on the verge of tearing himself apart.

"I'm not leaving without you." He said. His voice shook like she did.

"If you loved me you would go."

"I DO LOVE YOU!" Roger screamed, letting the anger roll off him in waves, "THAT'S WHY I'M DOING THIS! FOR US!"

"Just give up already! Can't you see what you're doing?"

"Fuck you!" Roger swore. Hale shut up, stunned. Roger instantly regretted it. "I-I'm so sorry, Hale…I'm so sorry…"

"No." she looked away, her energy drained and her will gone, "I'm the one who's sorry. I feel bad for you, Roger. I honestly do. Goodbye."

"…goodbye." He pulled his coat back on and left the small room, leaving Hale behind him. Simon waited impatiently at the door, looking up in a fury.

"Are we going back to our room now?" he huffed.

"Yep. It's bedtime." Roger whispered weakly.

"But it's only one o'clock in the afternoon!" Simon objected.

"It is?" Roger sighed, "Oh. Well, that's fine. Let's go to bed anyway. I'm tired. Are you tired? I am."

"I know you're tired." Simon grumbled. "You said it like five times."

"I'll give you some crayons or something."

"I hate crayons."

"Then I'll give you some meat cleavers or something." Roger hissed, "Happy?"

"No." Simon frowned, "I'm not happy."

"That's fantastic. I'd like to welcome you to the club. Neither am I."


	26. Chapter 26

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTRY 26: TIME

AUGUST 23, 1935

Years had passed since Hale and Roger's initial meeting. They had grown fonder through separation, perhaps even more so than they would have if they had been together.

However, nothing kept Roger from working to that goal.

Every spare minute, every little second he had free, he would sit down in his room and work. His walls had been covered in sticky notes and torn journal pages. Something in his mind just refused to be given up. There was just one problem with his current project that he couldn't find the equation to:

It needed to be wise.

Not just smart.

Wise.

How would he ever create something brand new with the experience to be wise? He could weld all the wires in the world together, but no amount of sparks could create that kind of emotional spectrum. There was one solution…just one…but…he didn't want to think about it.

And so, today like every other day, he spent in his room. Simon had taken control of his bunched-up failures he'd tossed in the bin. The young boy scrawled on them with the blueprint markers. Though five years had passed, they still appeared the same; Roger's instinct had been correct, the technology that he'd introduced to their brain snapped something. They didn't age anymore. Mr. Griffiths had promised not to sell that secret; even he agreed eternal life was nothing to be trifled with.

"-I think this could be fixed…yeah…the corresponding computer codes…input here…output…no…" Roger muttered under his breath. He crumpled up the journal page, tore it out of his leather book, and threw it backwards into the trash bin. He'd placed it so accurately in the room so that the paper went straight in. Simon grabbed it out and started another drawing.

"You know," Roger called to him, not lifting his gaze from his desk, "You keep telling me how much you hate crayons, Si. Yet, here you are, sitting on the floor, coloring."

"But not with crayons." Simon piped up.

"No, you're using the expensive lab materials. I have to admire your taste, kid."

"You don't pay for them."

"No, but I need to use them later."

It was quiet for a while. It was usually like this, with little, small talks that perforated the silence. It was an uncomfortable silence, a silence for a father and son who lacked a solid relationship.

"There's a…um…shit." Roger crumpled up another paper and threw it away. Once more, Simon retrieved it.

"Did you try putting an imaginary numerical input function?" Simon suggested.

"No. I'll try." His father responded, downtrodden. "This is due by December 26 this year…I'll never get it finished."

"Keep trying."

Roger sighed and got back to work. Five minutes later, he pushed away from his desk and started to spin around in his chair. There was nothing else he could do. It was hopeless, absolutely hopeless. Even Simon knew it, he was sure, that this would never work.

"What are you up to?" Roger asked while spinning.

"I'm drawing a picture."

"Of what?" Roger stopped the chair and leaned over Simon's shoulder to see the big picture, taped together out of old, given-up equations. It was just some stick-figures, really any little kid could've colored it. Except, there were three particular people whom only Simon could've known if they were all together at once. A man and a woman, and in between them a child; and they were all smiling.

"That's…"

"It's us." Simon said, pointing to each person in turn, "See, there's mom, and there's me, and that's you."

"Oh." Roger breathed, "That's a nice picture Simon. I like it."

"Can I put it up on your wall?"

"Sure."

…..

The nights maybe were more productive than the days, simply because Roger stopped stressing out enough to make thought possible. He was unable to sleep, just another glitch in his system, he supposed. Simon was able to sleep, across the room in a different bed, shouldn't he be able to? He felt like someone up there just loved to see him suffer.

Each night almost, Simon would wake up with nightmares. They were vivid, grotesque things. And though Roger never asked what they were, he could tell that they affected the boy quite viciously. If he had been able to sleep, he wouldn't have got much anyway due to Simon's screaming and crying. On top of all that, his son would always ask: "Dad, can I sleep in your bed tonight."

And Roger would always say no. Because really, it was bothersome.

Tonight, though, while Simon whimpered in the sheets and Roger paced restlessly, he couldn't help but to open his age-old journal and flip through it. There was something about this that he couldn't grasp. It had been filled with computer codes and wire combinations and secret metals only he knew about. He smoothed out the papers, the ones in the very beginning, titled from years ago, before he could remember. This was how he recalled things with his failing memory; a memory not even pills could keep with him. Roger ran his finger across each word, feeling the dents the pen had made. Where had those days gone? He flipped forward a few pages, reading over his notes to Hale when she hadn't been there, each one ending with the three words: I love you. He flipped back. Then he flipped through the whole thing like a card deck.

That's when he saw it.

One single page in the very beginning that appeared to have nothing on it. He stopped and rushed to get to it. The single blank space felt so important, yet he couldn't remember it at all. He gasped over the words, written in Hale's hand with his own hand in a coffee shop not far away from where he was.

_I love you too._

He broke down and started to weep.

…**.**

**Dude, only four official chapters left.**

**That's depressing.**

**I find it very depressing, at least.**

**Thanks again to COCOLADA for reviewing. And anyone else who reads this, thanks to you too. You guys are the reason I got this far, the reason I continued this fic. I thought nobody would like it, and I really didn't think I'd ever finish, but I'm so close I can taste it. Thanks for going along with me. Thanks for simply being here. Thanks for sticking around through these feels.**

**There will be so much more.**

**I hope you enjoyed. If you could review, that would be great.**

**-Katherine-**


	27. Chapter 27

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTRY 27: Christmas light

DECEMBER 25, 1937

The winters over time had grown colder and colder, each one throwing more salt into the wounds, each one sending new waves of pain on their jolly course. As the memories of good things came to pass and be thrown away, Roger found with a start that all he could remember was this; a terrible, grueling life that he wished he could give away. The snow outside his door piled higher and higher, a war waged across the world, new bombs were dropped each day. He felt as if he was snowed in. Nothing on the outside mattered, because he couldn't get to it. Nothing on the inside mattered, because it was useless anyway. Any help was futile. Any luck was bad. Deadlines kept getting extended and extended but no progress was made. Every day was a new reminder that the last had been half as bad.

Sometimes, Roger wished for death to come; or, at least some sign that time was progressing. His body didn't show it. His activity didn't show it. The people around him moved on, but he felt stuck in place. Santha had even had a kid: A devilish little thing with bright red hair. She claimed she would enroll him in Gladiator's military training program as soon as he hit six. Mr. Griffiths had started using smaller versions of Roger's technology to slow his best teams' aging and keep their stamina up, so maybe Roger would meet him one day, if this war kept up. The probability was slim though. It wasn't very often the soldiers were sent down to the lab. After all, it was underground and protected from the bombs. Roger felt like he should count that as a blessing. He would never have to worry about his family dying in a burst of flame. Although, he also felt as if that would be a blessing.

On this day, he'd found no new evidence he was going anywhere important. Something nagged him in the back of the head, an urgent nagging. _You only have a little bit of time left_, it muttered, _why don't you live as if it mattered only for one day?_

"I don't know." Roger groaned. Simon was _somewhere_ in the room, doing _something_ of no interest. Roger sighed. "Back to work." He reminded himself, "Always back to work."

He once more bent over his desk, sitting cross-legged in his infernal swirling chair, looking at some problem that had been so drilled into his brain that he couldn't see it as an actual thing anymore. It was just a collection of numbers and letters, sitting on his page.

"Get something done." He ordered himself.

_Are you stuck? I could help._

"Shut up." He told his mind. It shouldn't be talking to him like that. That meant he was crazy. And he most certainly was not crazy, not in a million years. He was just…overly passionate about his work; or forced to be overly passionate about it. What was the difference?

_Oh, give it up. You know I'll be winning in the end._

"Not if I can help it."

_But you can't._

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Roger hissed, dropping his pen on the table. It rolled to the floor somewhere and he grabbed another one from his pocket. "I can do this on my own."

_Sure._

Simon tugged meekly on his sleeve suddenly; Roger looked up from his 'work' tiredly, fighting sleep and so many other things, even the voice in his head fought him incessantly.

"Hnm?" He muttered.

"Are…are we going out today?" Simon asked.

Roger swiveled his chair around. "Have somewhere you need to go, kiddo?" He ruffled up Simon's hair on the one side, steering well clear of the scar; that solemn reminder.

"No, but-"

"But?"

Simon frowned and played with his hands. "It's Christmas."

Pausing in surprise, Roger leaned back in his chair and swiveled in circles so he could gather a few thoughts. Christmas…huh. So soon? He wondered briefly if the soldiers would do as they did in the old days; would a cease-fire be called? He also wondered if Hale knew what day it was. Winter was always her favorite. Did Simon like winter too? They'd always been in the lab around this season…too busy to go outside.

_This is urgent. You're running out of time, or do I have to remind you?_

"No…no."

He found with a start that not even he knew what month it had been. Roger knocked a fist into the side of his head. That microchip should've synced him with Simon. Shouldn't he know the date? He sighed and spun the chair in quick circles again, then leaned backwards so that he saw Simon upside down, still fiddling with his hands.

"Quit that." Roger scolded, "Your programming will adapt and make a habit out of it." Frantically, Simon stumbled around and shoved his hands in his pockets. Roger laughed and rocked out of the chair. The two crashed to the floor, with the chair on top of them; it's wheels traversed tiny circles in the air.

"Where's there to go?" Roger asked his son, "I can make time."

"But, don't you have to finish that project by tonight?" Simon complained.

"No buts. I can make time." Roger repeated, flicking Simon's nose and standing up. He dusted himself off, and made note to also make time to clean the lab a bit if time allowed it.

"But-"

"No! No no no!" Roger scolded, hauling Simon up onto his shoulders. He teetered a bit before he could continue, "See, now look what you've done! We're just going to have to wander the streets aimlessly now."

"We look homeless!" Simon giggled, trying to avoid being hit by the ceiling, "Wait, wait! I can pull up a map…a guidance system would be sug-"

"Nope. We're playing a game. Just for tonight."

"What kind of game?" Simon asked curiously, leaning down a little. Roger exited the stairwell and walked through the lab, then into the lobby.

"It's called pretend." He responded quietly, pushing through the door to the outside. A gust of cold wind slapped him in the face and tore at his clothes. Simon gripped the crown of his head tighter.

"I like that game." He muttered against a screen of black hair. He snuggled into his father's comfort. It was nice; a familiar scent, a familiar touch, a familiar warmth. Around them, the world lit up with the strangeness of the holiday decorations. They flickered against Simon's irises in a weird way, giving off their transparency and the wires hiding beneath. He sniffed and looked down again. Roger just kept on walking through the crowds and the destroyed town; he ignored everything but Simon. Off in the distance, a strange sound could be heard ringing around the sharper edges. Despite the war and death, people still sung music. It was high and strained and stung the heart, heard only through a deluge of tears. Christmas carols.

They walked past the little shops; some closed, some broken, a few glittering, a few full of welcoming faces smiling around cups of sweet milk. People laughed, people smiled. Families and children screamed in delight, despite the fact that certainly no presents would come this year.

There was so much…

So much…

Hope.

After all these years, it was still there.

Too soon, Roger found, their trip around the city was over. The soot on his shoes showed how long their travels had been and marked his progress across the bricked roads. It took about an hour to get back to where he started; the place his journey had begun. Simon looked over it, puzzled at what a place this was. It certainly wasn't where he had started this particular expedition, but this place was all Roger could remember now. It was dark and stretched out with night time shadows, but it still felt like home.

The alleyway, still covered by the red and white umbrella, was the place Roger sat both of them down as he started to mourn.

He wept for all things lost, the memories he'd forgotten, the things he could never change, all his regrets, all his time that he'd wasted. Every time he felt ready to get up and leave, to stop looking like a fool, something new welled up and strengthened his cause. He felt as if this was the beginning of his end. Yet, he hadn't really moved. He was the same as before. Roger sat like he used to, his legs drawn up to his chest and his head cradled on his knees. He was in the same place he'd began, so he mustn't have gone far…

Stop lying to yourself.

This time, he knew the voice was right. Everything had changed. This wasn't even the same alley as before; at least, it didn't feel like it.

He wished he'd never met Hale that day.

Simon leaned up against him and tugged at his coat, shaking Roger from his thoughts.

"Dad…dad, why're you crying?!" He sniffed, "Did I do something wrong?! I can fix it…I can…I'll fix it!"

Roger sat up and wiped off his face with the sleeve of his white lab jacket. "Simon…" He gripped his son tightly by the shoulders, still fighting back tears and choking on his own words, "This was never your fault! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, okay? This is all your stupid da's fault!" He blinked back tears. Simon watched numbly, then remembered something he'd thought of on the way here…wherever here was.

"Dad?" He piped up suddenly. Roger smiled through his sobs.

"Uh-huh?"

"…Am I real?"

Roger was startled by the immediacy of the question. Then, he was sad, and even more so, angry. At himself. At Hale. At every stupid person he'd ever met. Simon was crying now too. He hugged his son to him and closed his eyes.

"Yes. The realest."

"Really?"

"Really. Don't…don't forget who you are, Simon. Don't ever change."

Simon cried harder, nuzzling farther into Roger's embrace. "Grandpa says I was an accident," He shuddered violently, "He says I'm not meant to be alive. He says"

"Grandpa's dumb." Roger responded quickly, "Listen, Simon, and listen good. You like learning, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Okay, well catalogue this as important."

"…ready."

Roger hugged Simon tighter, nustling against the top of his head as Simon had done to him earlier.

"No matter what grandpa say, you matter. I don't know what I'd do without you; I love you so much, Simon." They both sat there for a long time, crying and laughing and talking about things they would do in the future when everything was all better. They would buy a house far from the city, as the city no longer held the luster it used to. They would have dinners all together, as a family. They would even have their own Christmas tree.

And maybe someday Hale would be there to see it.

That night, Simon had no nightmares.

…**..**

**THREE MORE.**

**ONLY THREE MORE…AGH! The countdown is hyping me up! If this keeps up, I'll be un-depressed and unable to write this! Anyway, this entry had A LOT of feels. Like and OVERLOAD of them. Sorry about that.**

**THANKS FOR READING! PLS review if you have the time. I appreciate it greatly!**


	28. Chapter 28

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTRY 28: TransMission

JANUARY 1, 1938

Hale could hold a mighty grudge when time permitted it, and since she had nothing better to do time obviously permitted it. She had limitless piles of the stuff to use on brooding and grumbling and kicking invisible cans. Roger walking in just gave her a new device to take out her pent-up anger on; so what if he was holding a pretty flower bouquet? All the hues in the world couldn't make up for their previous argument.

"Hale," He smiled. The glasses he wore didn't suit him. It made Hale think he was trying to usher in some sort of new fashion statement. Roger set down the bouquet by the glass pane and looked at her in the eyes. Normally calm and reserved, their green surface bubbled furiously. "It's good to see you. Simon couldn't be here today, sorry. Santha needed him in the lab. Some stupid wiring malfunction. Anyway, do you know what day it is?"

"No." She muttered, keeping her boiling gaze on Roger the whole time, "I don't know what day it is."

Her intensity alarmed Roger. He stepped back and frowned. "I'm…sorry. I know you must be upset…It's been such a long time…"

"I'm not angry about that." Hale finally snapped, breaking down her angry façade. She knew she was no one to hold a grudge, even if time permitted it. Her shoulders shook and she gripped them to stop the tremors. It made her weak body ache. "I'm just upset…because you're still here."

"Hale, we've talked about this a million times!" Roger sternly said, stepping forward again. "I'm not leaving without you."

"Then you're staying here forever."

"If that's what happens, so be it!" He snapped back. Hale looked up, sad and defeated.

"What day is it, Roger?" She sighed, "Tell me what day it is."

Roger kicked the corner of the Plexiglas and furrowed his brow, still upset by their argument. Since the initial fight some five years or so ago, they'd never stopped. He kept trying to fix it…and fix it…and fix it. But, as it turns out, Hale didn't work like a piece of his machinery did. He could tell her all the equations in the world, and she'd just spit them back in his face. That didn't mean he didn't love her. He loved her like…like it was…

"Well," He started, trying to plaster the smile back onto his face, "I checked my journal and I checked the calendar. Today is the day I first met you."

"Really? How long has it been?" Hale whispered.

"Eight years."

"That long already?" She breathed wistfully, pausing for a moment's thought. Then: "…Roger, can I ask you something without you getting mad?"

"Sure, what is it?" He responded in an equally quiet voice, just as resigned as she was. Perhaps he was even more broken. Sure, he didn't have the bruises to prove it…but he did have the scars.

"…Do you ever wish we'd never met?"

"…" He looked down shamefully, "I…I'm…sorry. Yes, yes I do."

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Hale moved to the side wall and sat down, leaning against it with all her weight and looking out the glass into the world beyond. It was a hopeful thing, something that dreamt of galaxies spinning far beyond her reach, far beyond what she would ever reach. The stars she saw swirled and flickered on the surfaces of her eyes, streaming down her cheeks in reflective drops. The air she breathed in came out in ragged, short bursts. "I think about it too. I think about how our lives would've been…I don't think we could've been happy ever…but we would've been…better off than here."

"I know." Roger responded, also more broken than ever, "Hale, I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

"It's not your fault."

"Yes it is."

"Then it's my fault too."

Don't blame yourself for this."

"But that's what you're doing!" Hale shouted weakly, her voice shaking with her breath, "And if you're going to carry that hurt, I'm going to carry it with you! There's nothing you can do to stop me, so don't you even try, Roger Williams! Or I-"

Roger cut her off with a wistful look. "You're just as stubborn as the day I met you."

"And you're just as pitiful. Like a puppy that's been hit by a car." Hale huffed, "I can't help but to feel bad for you, even if you're happy."

"I'd like to think I'm more attractive than that." Roger said in mock discontent.

"You are, just not now." Hale quickly amended, "Those glasses make you look ridiculous."

"I need them for my job."

"Don't you mean indentured servitude?"

"Either or." Roger shrugged off, "It worries me that, under different circumstances, I might actually find it enjoyable; aside from the mass genocide of prisoners going on in the lab in the basement of your father's corporation. But, hey, what can a guy do?"

"That's started up again?" Hale said worriedly.

"Mr. Griffiths insists that my continually missed deadline is due to the fact that I have a lack of guinea pigs." Roger frowned, "But, trust me, I have a test subject already and he hasn't helped a bit."

"Who?" Hale shot up, wincing from the pain the motion sent to her bones, "Tell me you're not testing on Simon!"

"No!" Roger responded, dismayed, "Hell no, Hale, I would never do that!"

She had to think about it for a few long, silent minutes before the grim reality of it set in. He seemed to realize that she'd figured it out too, because not a second later did Roger avert his gaze. "No." She shook her head and covered her mouth, letting out a sharp gasp, "No, Roger, no…that's not any better…Why would you do that?!"

"I couldn't take it anymore, okay?!" Roger shouted back, "I couldn't keep taking lives! I don't care if they were criminals! I was_ killing_ people, Hale!"

"It doesn't matter!"

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?! Human lives are worthless to you too, huh?"

"That's not what I meant, for God's sake!" Hale screamed back, hoarse from the shouting and overlapping loud voices, "Why can't you just understand how worried I am about you, Roger?! That's all I think about, every single fucking day! If anything happened to you or Simon, I'd…!"

"You'd what, huh?!"

"I don't know what I'd do, okay!" Hale sobbed, "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I'm…sorry." Roger calmed himself, sobering up and letting the realization of what he'd just done crash into him like a tidal wave. He felt like he was just one argument away from disaster; and he'd promised himself that this time would be different… "I'm just so sick of this."

"Please," Hale begged, "Please, don't do anything reckless anymore. You can let go…"

"What are you talking about?" Roger shot back with a fake smile, "I could never abandon you."

A little timer on his watch rang, obnoxiously loud. Hale covered her ears, not used to the high-pitched sounds. Roger quickly reset it and looked back up.

"Well, I have to be going now." He announced with a true smile this time, "I'll see you soon, honey. I'll bring Si next time, I promise."

"Sure. Be careful."

"Got it." Roger dismissed with a wave. The door closed behind him, leaving a painful silence. Minutes later, it was perforated thoroughly by the stifled sobs of Hale as she wept over her pitiful, broken, begotten hero; the one she didn't want to rescue her anymore. The flowers on the ground even appeared to be grieving with her, or maybe perhaps it was just the coincidence of the cold, stiff air and lack of water in the span of ever-flying time; for as Hale wept bitterly, a single rose in the bundle had begun to give up its petals.

…

**Yo, it's Katherine again. Sorry I haven't updated recently-er. It's FINALS WEEK. DUN-DUN-DUN. **

**Also, I got a new puppy C:**

**A few announcements before I get to review response: First of all, this fic is almost over. I know I keep saying that, but I can't believe it still. It feels like just yesterday I was writing chapter two and being all depressed and saying things like: "NOBODY'S EVER GONNA READ THIS BECAUSE IT'S CRAPTERDS." And more recently: "IT'S TOO DRAMATIC AND ROMANTICAL AND HAS TOO MANY SCENES WHERE PEOPLE ARE CRYING TO BE ENJOYABLE." But, all things accounted for, I think it's not that bad. I mean, on a scale of Twilight to Pretty Dang Awesome, I'd say this is about a 'I Wouldn't Throw Up On My Computer Screen If I Read It All At Once'. How about you guys? What do you think? **

***Cricket Chirps***

**Oh yeah…I forgot. Besides Coco, Justanotherbeliever, and SpartanReviewer of course. Oh, and Italktodeadpigs. But that was a long time ago. That's not to say I don't appreciate her, because I do. I might even consider her a friend with the amount of times we've chatted. But again, a long time ago.**

**Also, I've updated the soundtrack list for this quite a bit. Why don't you head on over to my profile and give a few songs a listen? I highly recommend All This Time by Onerepublic. That one's good.**

**Anyway, REVIEW RESPONSE TIME. **

**DaSpartanReviewer (Not sure if I spelled that right.)**

**The fact that you even would consider comparing me to Beethoven is awesome and amazing on so many levels. Because, seriously, that guy was a genius. He may have had a funny necklace-frilly-thing, but he was a genius nonetheless. Also, no. No one is gay CX. I have a feeling this is becoming some sort of inside joke or something.**

**Cocolada**

**Thanks for sticking with me until this point! I never thought I'd have any faithful readers when I joined this site DX. I'm still sort of a weirdo. At least, I think I am. BUT WHO NEEDS NORMALITY?! PSHT:D….Also, I can't make this go on forever…I'd get a terrible hand-cramp. I already have a hand cramp just writing this. And that's no fun. Plus, it'd get rather boring as well I think.**

**Alright, ANYWAY.**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review if you have time! I very much appreciate it!**


	29. Chapter 29

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTRY 29:

JANUARY 20, 1938

Roger felt the jolt of the elevator and started, only to realize it was natural and that he had overreacted. He let out a breath. For a minute, he honestly thought it had been the impact of another bomb. God damn those Nazis and their bunker-piercing missiles. They'd had him on edge for the past two weeks. He took a moment to glance out of the glass walls and onto the city below. Everything was smoking and brown and reeking of death…Roger sent a silent thank you to whatever power had decided to bestow Gladiator Tower with strong foundations and sturdy construction. It was the only building that still had left all its stories; a grand total of seventy. Today Roger was destined for the very top one. He had an appointment with someone, some business to take care of.

"This place is awful tall, da." Simon piped up from the handrail, where he too watched over the town and its smoldering ruins. He was clutching onto it for dear life.

"That's right, I forgot," Roger commented, "You've never been higher than the seventeenth floor, have you?"

"Nope."

"Well…just remember what it looks like." He said solemnly, grabbing Simon's shoulder with one hand and sticking the other in his pocket, "I want you to remember this city, Simon. This is your home. No matter what, it's up to you to protect it and its people. Everyone is precious, and every life counts for something. I want to put an end to this war."

"Is that what all that combat training was about?" Simon asked.

"I suppose it was." Roger shrugged, turning his gaze towards the flashing number above the door as they reached the top. "Looks like we've come to our stop." He said as he exited the elevator cab. Simon followed him closely, trying to burn out the image of the broken city in his mind.

The top floor was not as big as the others. It was actually rather small in comparison, consisting of only a single, wide, short hallway, with floors paneled in wood from other places and walls made of glass. The result was quite gruesome; for though the architect's intent had been to showcase the beauty of the city, that luster had long since been gone. Instead, it appeared to paint a terrible picture for any visitors. It was a wonder anyone could even work here, in such horrid conditions. One might equate it to having a red carpet in the city morgue, maybe even worse. Roger shuddered as England seemingly swirled below him, like hades itself. Though, he couldn't be surprised. This was Mr. Griffith's floor, after all. His office was just beyond the only door at the end of that hallway; the large, heavy-looking maple one with the gold handle. Simon slipped his hand into his fathers. Quite the desolate place indeed, and agreed upon to. The empty hall seemed to laugh at them.

"Simon, I want you to stay out here while your father's talking to grandpa." Roger ordered sternly, "This is serious business."

"But, da!" Simon whined, "It's weird in here…"

"I know, Si, but I don't want him trying to take you away." Roger bent a knee so he could be at eye level with his son. "Now listen, if anything goes wrong, just take Santha to mommy's room and have her break mommy out. Don't stop running for the world, got it?"

"I got it." Simon responded, downtrodden.

"Don't be like that." Roger stood back up and ruffled Simon's hair a bit before advancing towards the door. It cast a foreboding shadow across his heart and sent a chill through his spine. In correspondence, he shivered. "See you in a minute, Simon…hopefully."

"Alright."

Roger slowly opened the door and stepped inside Mr. Griffiths' office. It looked much the same as the hall on the other side of the door. Except, this room only had one glass wall, right behind the chairman's desk. The rest were maple like the floor, and lined with shelves full of books he'd most likely never opened or read. In a huge evergreen chair behind the desk, Mr. Griffiths himself sat and bent over paperwork, unhurriedly penning in words on the sheets. _Geez_, Roger thought, _if only I had the time to work that slow…_

"Ah…excuse me…" Roger stuttered, feeling his nerve already slipping, "Mr. Griffiths…sir…"

"Yes, what is it?" he responded, not lifting his eyes from the work he had set out on completing. In the backdrop of London, big ben tolled, signaling it was high noon. The off-beat chimes resonated in the floor below, making Roger's quaking seem like part of the environment and not part of his body.

"It's…me. I wanted to ask something of you."

Roger stood in the open office, hardening his resolve, at least on the visible aspect of it, and continued to wait for Mr. Griffiths to look up from his papers. The chairman adjusted his name tag set on the desk before even casting a sideways glance.

"Dr. Williams." He said curtly, as if it answered and explained everything.

"Chairman." Roger nodded. It was a sign of superiority, admittance of rank.

Said chairman sighed and frowned, folding his hands together. "What else could you possibly want, doctor? I gave you the boy. What now."

"I want Hale." Roger demanded.

"Hm?" He had the chairman's full attention now.

"We had a deal, Mr. Griffiths!" Roger began hoarsely, "You said that if I helped you create my AI, then you would release her to me! I don't care if I still have to work for you! I don't care if we all have to live in that tiny white room on old wartime rations…I just want her out of that…awful place." He stopped to catch his breath. If he didn't Roger had a horrible feeling he would lose his control…or pass out. He couldn't afford to do that here, especially with Simon right outside. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists as Mr. Griffiths looked him over with a condescending glint in his eye.

"Fine."

"What?!"

"But your next test subject must be either her or you."

The relief was gone in an instant. The pain and dismay flooded within him so quickly that it nearly knocked him over.

"The next round of technology…is untested…separate from any kind of..." Roger broke off in disbelief.

Are you afraid?

"…shut up." Roger muttered as quiet as he could. He couldn't have a mental break-down here.

"I realize that." Mr. Griffiths answered in a calm voice.

"…You're a monster…" Roger accused weakly, "This…Hale is your daughter! Don't you care about her?"

"I have no daughter." The chairman smiled.

"…" Roger felt his options dwindling quickly, spiraling out of his control. His heart and mind had fled out of denial; his chest was light and he felt faint. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep or nutrients…maybe it was something else. He let out a breathy laugh before picking up his shattered thoughts enough to respond. For some reason, he felt the compulsive need to run his fingers over the bridge of his glasses.

"I…I have to accept your offer…" He whispered, defeated, "I will stand in for Hale tomorrow."

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, Dr. Williams." Mr. Griffiths went back to looking at his desk lazily, "Good day."

"Good…good day, Mr. Griffiths, sir." Roger took a deep breath and tugged his white coat back in place. All this bumbling about had allowed one side to slip down his shoulder. "Jolly good day indeed."

Roger shut the door behind him as he exited the office. The horror of the moment and the lurid outside realm reflected off his eyes through the shield of the glasses, making them appear a rusty scarlet color. As he leaned against the closed door, he inhaled slowly and looked down. The death seemed to cling to him in a terrible air. He bit his lip to stop the trembling.

"Da!" Simon broke him from his lament, snapping him back to his former shape and self.

The younger boy had waited patiently by the maple door, twiddling his thumbs like he always did, Roger could see. He smiled at him as Simon glanced up.

"My programming made a habit of it." He said nervously.

"I can see that." Roger chuckled, unbetraying. He messed up the side of Simon's dark auburn hair with his unpocketed hand, stopping short at the scar. Ever-so-lightly, he ran his thumb over the puckered skin. Would he have something like that?

_Probably not, but you're gonna have a mighty poor funeral procession._

"So, are we going to get mom back?"!" Simon asked excitedly, interrupting Roger's grief. Roger put his best smile on, shrugging his shoulders, trying his best to look happy.

"You bet, kiddo." He answered, "Right after dad's next assignment is finished. And, you know what, the war should be over by next Christmas. The town will have the lights again. When she's feeling up to it, that's the first thing we'll see together, okay?"

Simon's face lit up. "You promise?"

"I absolutely promise." Roger answered weakly, his smile only half-way on his face, "Don't let me forget, alright?"

"I won't." Simon said, quieter now. He sensed something was off. Something was wrong, very very wrong. "I love you, dad."

"I love you too, Si."

Roger Williams did not feel worthy enough for that.

He was broken.

He had lost.

_This just goes to show you_, his voice said as Roger looked out the elevator. The city looked so different than when they were traveling up._ Good guys never win. That is, if you're a good guy. I honestly don't know what side you're on at this point. How about you, chap? What do you think you are?_

"How am I supposed to know?" Roger murmured, "I'm just a…I don't know anymore."

_Me neither. Huh. How strange. Quite a predicament you've gotten yourself into, though. I have to congratulate you on this one. Honestly, how much trouble can you people get into in an average day? If I were you, that son of a bitch would be dead by now._

"Oh, shut it. It's you're problem too, considering you're part of me."

_That's just what you think._

"Go away." Roger hissed, "Stop talking to me." Simon looked up worriedly as his father talked to himself.

In Roger's head, no one answered.

…**.**

**AHHHH…..Only one chapter left….*SOBS* and then the epilogue, if I decide to do one. I need one, so there will probably do one. **

**YUP.**

**Anyway, not much to say. So, I'll go straight to REVIEW RESPONSE TIME**

**COCOLADA**

**Yesh…I love puppies too. Except for when they lay on my laptop when I'm typing and want belly scratches, and then my keyboard is all like: "sdjgabjnhetigdfjagtewuawbgkj trh"**

**It's a golden retriever….CX**

**Thank you for thinking my story is close to pretty dang awesome! That's awesome! Also, you are enough! I wouldn't mind if only you reviewed on this, because honestly at least **_**one **_**person would be reading it, and that's pretty dang awesome in my book C:**

**AHH! THE EERMEGEDEON.**

** JK.**

**Oh, And, as asked, I updated soon.**

…**.**

**That's it for review responses! Feel free to leave a review, even if it flames my story terribly! At least it's something! Also, I LUB YOU GUYS (By that, I mean readers)! I CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE ALMOST AT THE END OF OUR JOUNREY;-;**

**BYE! I hope you liked it! Please review! I mean, if you want to…and have time.**


	30. Chapter 30

**The last official 'Entry'….sniff. This one's really depressing guys, and deserves to be read while listening to 'Nick Cave and Warren Ellis Radio' on Pandora…*Cries because the music is so beautiful***

**Also, it might be a LITTLE confusing.**

**I really have nothing more to say.**

**Look out for the epilogue and the little surprise I have for you coming soon.**

**Goodbye sanity, and thank you to all my faithful readers and awesome reviewers. I hope you love it.**

**-Kat**

…..

HALE PROTOCOL

ENTRY FINAL: Orchestra of Love

JANUARY 20, 1938, 23:46 MILITARY TIME

_Hello again, my friend._ The voice had been able to interject once more. It seemed that even in his final hours, Roger could not find peace.

"What do you want?" Roger muttered, trying to sit still in the metal operating chair. It was fixed to the ground and leeched the heat from his body. The examination light above him shone down and caused him to squint; he tried to free his wrists from the straps that held them down so he could cover his eyes, but couldn't. They had strapped him in tight alright…jolly tight. Roger was left only with bleary vision and ragged breath. His thoughts were the only things to hold on to; besides, of course, the stiff air, which he grasped at vainly with crooked fingers.

_Do you like riddles?_

"What kind of question is that?!" He shouted back. Roger gasped in pain as some sort of sharp metal dug into his chest. He bit down hard, trying to hold back tears. It hurt. It hurt so bad. The blood, though he couldn't see it, could be felt trickling over him. With each drop that fell, even more warmth was snatched away. The memories began to decompose and regress as well, leaving him with nothing. Every molecule of heat was ripped from him at once then. It set him shivering with loss and pain. Is this what it felt like to die? He deserved it…

What's been dead, but still walks?

"What are you talking about?" Roger winced as more pain coursed through him, running out with the blood.

_Let me put it in the words of a child's midnight song…_

_ I am alive but cannot see_

_ My eyes have been rotted out_

_ And pecked by birds, drifting in the sea_

_ The scavengers huddle 'round me_

_ And take what they desire_

_ For the only thing I want_

_ Costs of the heftiest amount_

_ I was willing to bargain away_

_ Everything I owned, loved_

_ And everything I was_

_ My life and a day_

_ Now I am alive, but cannot see_

_ And the very death I crave_

_ So much, it eludes me_

_ I forgot who I am_

_ And who you are too_

_ That's the reason I ask_

_ Who am I?_

"…H-how am I supposed to know?" Roger responded, fainter now. The life was slipping out of him already. It was leaving so fast… "Just tell me, who is this man?"

_Oh, that's easy. It's you._

Roger jumped out of bed in a cold sweat. He was shaking still from the vague impression of the dream, the mark it had left on him. The pain in his chest still sliced through his heart and felt as real as ever; an after-effect of the medicine he'd taken to help calm himself down enough to be put under the coming morning.

_No amount of drugs will cure your degree of madness._

"It's just for the moment." Roger whispered to the darkness, attempting to not wake Simon, and already resigned to his own supposed fate, "I'll be gone by tomorrow. And you will be too."

_Keep living in whatever delusion you fancy. I, on the other hand, have chosen reality. It's good to keep a secure footing there. Either that or live in denial, and I much prefer the former._

"How ironic." Roger muttered broodingly. He pressed a finger quickly to his temple and winced. His head hurt.

_Haha. Quite._

…..

And so, at 12:01 exactly, Roger had found himself finally on that unfortunate day on which his life so hinged, or more so, it had found itself upon him; like a terrible tiger, not expecting to happen along any prey but pleased with the find nonetheless. It licked its chops as it examined him.

He marched the halls, tired and starved and, above all, nervous. He shook uncontrollably. Though Roger owned no hearse, it surely appeared by his shoulders that he carried one. The walking kept him awake, the walking brought him memories. That beaker Simon had broken, that wall he'd drew on, that blueprint was Roger's first. Every now and then his eyelids fluttered shut and he would lose his footing, slipping to the floor. Luckily, he was already back in his room by this time. Most times, Simon would rise and bring him back to reality.

He wasn't doing this for himself.

He was doing this for Hale. And for Simon.

If he didn't do this to himself, he'd have to do this to her. She'd die, especially in her fragile state. But…Roger sighed. He was selfish, so so selfish. There were right reasons to do this…but he wasn't doing this for her. Roger was doing this for himself; because he deserved it, and most of all, because he couldn't bear this anymore. Causing pain to people endlessly weighed heavy on his conscious and heavy on his soul. The amnesia was getting worse and worse too, and sometimes he woke up and couldn't even remember his own name. Maybe this new programming would fix him.

Simon stirred again in bed. Roger leaned over and pulled his covers up a little higher, then went back to his pacing. For his son's sake, he hoped Simon was still sleeping when he went under. He frowned and then sat on the edge of the bed.

He felt deep in his heart, some hurting. A lot of hurting, actually. He felt as if he should say something.

Only…Roger couldn't find the words.

He'd lost them.

So at precisely four, without uttering a single note, Roger grabbed his white lab coat off its hook and slipped it on, one last time. It felt heavy on his shoulders. He kissed Simon's forehead and wished him a good-night's sleep before he shut the door behind him.

….

Roger had to keep pinching himself to stay awake as he ran Santha through the ropes; which incision went where, don't cut here, blood goes through this tube, heart readings should be this. At times, he felt as if Santha should be telling him what to do. Dr. Williams kept screwing up the settings on all the equipment and his assistant had to correct them. If this kept up, his mistakes would end up killing him.

He was in the middle of dialating the vision coordination readings on the when Santha grabbed his wrists. She gave him a stern look, one that said: Stop. Roger collapsed into the surgical chair.

"Dr. Williams," She said, lowering her voice, "You don't have to worry like this. I know what I'm doing!"

"I'm sorry, Santha." Roger replied in a voice that had all but given out on him, "I'm not worried though, really."

"What are you then?"

"I'm afraid."

"You're afraid…nervous too, I bet half my salary." Santha sighed, sitting down next to him, "Understandably so, I know that…I know that. But you need to get a God-damn grip."

"I've never heard you talk like that."

"I have my moments." Santha shot him a dubious smile for a moment before realizing that Roger was looking down, and she was wasting her time and her efforts. She also turned away, fixing her dark eyes on the ground. She let out a wistful, breathy laugh and leaned back. "You ever wish we could just…you know…start over? From the very beginning?"

"…more than you know." Roger answered truthfully.

"…me too…yeah…me too, sir." Santha continued to stare up at the ceiling as if she could see stars there, speaking the wisdom they'd accumulated. "I wouldn't have been as hard as I was on you. I always had low expectation of you, from the very moment I saw you I always expected you to fail. I wish we'd talked more, you know? You aren't half bad, for a kid I mean. I guess I just never really took the time to see things your way."

"…thanks, Santha." Roger smiled, still looking away, ever-so-faintly, "That means a lot to me."

"…do you still love her?"

"Who?"

"Simon's mother." Santha replied curiously, "I've always imagined she was out there somewhere, cheering you on."

A terrible pulling on Roger's chest brought tears to his eyes. He buried his face in his hands and tried to hide it. He couldn't even remember her name anymore…yet…

"Oh, Santha," He sobbed, "If only you knew how much I loved her…" His assistant attempted to console him, patting his back in an awkward fashion.

"I think I know, sir. I think I know."

….

The time came all too soon in which the white-coated faces Roger had grown familiar with entered the room and milled about in friendly conversation, waiting for the details on this assignment. On the other side of the one-way mirror across the room, Mr. Griffiths and his top executives watched with pre-prepared beverages in their hands, carrying on similar conversations. Roger watched numbly from beside the silver surgical chair, glancing every so often to the mirror. He could see them on the other side; it wasn't as one-sided as it was called to be.

"What time is it?" Roger asked Santha, who stood next to him like a loyal assistant should, to the very end.

"Almost time."

"That's good enough." Roger sighed, turning away from the mirror. On the other side, Mr. Griffiths started to watch him curiously from behind the porcelain mug he held. Dr. Williams called the attention of the room, and it fell silent.

"H-hello, everybody." He started shakily. The faces formed an ever-changing loop around him, each one holding their own memories. "I have to congratulate everyone, first of all, on all the progress we've made. You helped me more than you know…more than you know…and now, it's my turn to help you. I suppose, if that's what you'd call it. I'm sure you can figure it out by now, that I was never really prepared for this. I had to show all of you that I was worthy of this position. Well, now it's your turn." Roger stopped and glanced at Santha, who solemnly nodded back at him, an urge to continue his last lecture. "I'm the final test subject. This time around, you'll be killing me."

This was met with silence. And more silence. Until…

"Hold on! You can't do this!" A voice broke through, annoying yet comforting all at the same time. Its owner burst through the door leading to the mirror room and grabbed Roger forcefully by the arm. Wilhelm, who wasn't supposed to be down here. "He made you do it, didn't he? The chairman made you do this! You would never…I mean…"

"This was all my idea." Roger blurted out. Honestly, he couldn't remember if it was. All he had managed to hold onto was his reason. "Hale and Simon." He said aloud for some reason, though he didn't know why. Probably just to hang onto it for a little while longer, as much as her could, as long as he can, just keep thinking of them, that's all…

"It can't be…" Wilhelm insisted, like a lost child.

"Wilhelm!" An angry voice came in over the intercom, "Get the hell out of there! You're fired! GET OUT!"

The man looked into the glass of the mirror, at himself at past the reflection into what was really there. He seemed to find what he was looking for.

"I quit."

And he left.

Astonished faces looked quickly around, muttering about what to do. Some dropped their coats and left just like Wilhelm did, leaving Roger absolutely stunned. Did people really like him that much? Maybe he did leave some sort of impact after all…was that even possible?! He had just been working…all he did was work.

In the end, all that remained was Santha and himself, standing in the empty room with Mr. Griffiths on the other side of a mirror. He looked angry.

"Maybe we're not that different…after all…" Roger muttered through a faint smile.

"They left because they were weak." Mr. Griffiths continued through the intercom overhead, "They didn't want to bear the responsibility of you, of your death. Or, whatever else may come of this."

"No," Santha interjected, finally. She found herself strong enough to stand up to him. "They left because they care."

"How could you possibly know?" Mr. Griffiths scoffed.

"Because that's the reason that, when this is all over, I'm quitting too." Santha finished, "Plus, I have a family of my own to take care of…Dr. Williams made me realize something recently about myself. I plan on fixing it."

Roger felt light-headed all of a sudden. He was going to pass out…he was going to pass out…

"…" The chairman was silent. A dark air seemed to emanate from him. Roger gripped onto the overhead surgical light in an attempt to steady himself.

"I…can't remember…" He muttered.

_ All the better_

"Dad!" A voice broke through to him suddenly, struggling through the white noise, "Dad! What's happening?!"

Roger turned around. In the doorway, held back by Wilhelm, Simon stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. Santha put a hand on Roger's shoulder in warning.

"Get him out of here, Santha." Roger croaked, "I'll be fine. Just get him out of here."

"But, sir!"

"No buts." Roger ordered, "I want you to do this. Please, please just go."

For once, Santha followed orders. So, when the replacements finally arrived in a flood and tied him down, Roger had no regrets. No regrets except for time.

If only he'd had more.

If only he'd had more.

Of what, he could no longer remember.

….

If ever there was a single moment in time when all the hearts and attention of loved ones was enraptured to a single thought, it was now. Whether it was Simon, banging furiously on the viewing panes and screaming for it to stop, or Hale, sitting still in her nearly-empty room with her head on her knees and her head in the past. Even Santha and Wilhelm, ordered far away from Simon by security, sat on a snowy park bench outside and clutched each other's hands in a small comfort, exchanging a solemn nod, trying to convince that everything would be alright. Mr. Griffiths also had his thoughts on Roger, though not in the heart-warming recognition everyone else had sent up. At one point, a few of his former co-workers even gathered around in a circle to say a prayer; not for war, not for peace, but for him.

You are insignificant still.

"No, I am Roger." He answered back, against the cut of the blades and the sting of the light, "I am Roger. I created you. And I will always be here."

See you in hell

"You can't control me! I am the master!"

_Hale means nothing to you, face it. She's meaningless._

"Stop it!"

_Just shut the fuck up and die already!_

I will always be here!" Roger shouted against the push and pull. He was starting to understand.

_I've won! Don't you understand?! Just give up!_

"I…am here…"

He kept repeating that until the moment he went under, carrying along with him a phrase that his heart refused to let go.

_**I love you, Hale**_

_** I love you, Hale…**_

_** Love you, Hale…**_

_** Hale…**_

_** Ha…**_

Until it faded away completely.

…..

_What am I?_

_Do I breathe?_

_Am I human?_

_Am I anything at all?_

_I do not know._

_Which is why I ask of you_

_This one little riddle_

_What_ am_ I?  
….._

Could you imagine being in a million different places at once? That's what he felt like, when he first woke up. He felt like his whole world was a shattered mirror, and he was only glancing into it for moments at a time, never allowed to get a good look at himself or his surroundings.

"He's alive. We know that much." A voice from outside the darkness claimed.

"Good. We better keep him that way."

"Agreed."

Something was beeping. It was irritating…so so irritating. The man chanced opening his eyes, slowly, tentatively. The world around him turned out to be harshly lit, dangerous. People mulled about him, holding clipboards, leaning over.

_Who are you?_

_ Show what you're made of._

_ These people think they can control you…_

"They're wrong." He darkly spoke his first words. The technicians looked down on him, happy with this advancement. The man on the chair started to laugh, a cruel twisted one. It sent them silent at least. His eyes were wide and mad, his smile crooked. He was truly a man who had lost all purpose. All everything.

"THEY'RE WRONG! THEY'RE WRONG THEY'RE WRONG! HAHAHA!" He screamed, pulling at his restraints. The beeping sped up. The people ran about, also shrieking and crying. Fear, that's all they felt. Because they were weak.

"Someone hold him down!" A voice cried. Something touched the man's wrist. He twisted away violently. The restraints holding him down snapped, sending him barreling out of the chair and across the floor. He recovered quickly, getting to his feet, but the world still spun and struggled into focus before him. Everything was illuminated faintly with life reading. Their pulse was this, their emotion was this, their age, their height, their life, all at his gaze.

"Dr. Williams, calm down!" One of the scientists urged, or was there three of him? And who was Dr. Williams?!

"We're trying to help you…" Another spoke up.

"Help?" The man muttered.

"Help." The tech repeated, relieved.

"I DON'T NEED ANY OF YOUR GOD-DAMN HELP!" The man roared. He sprinted forward, grabbed the tech by the collar, and slammed them against the nearest wall. The scent of fear was all over her. "YOU'RE JUST TRYING TO KILL ME, AREN'T YOU?!"

"No! No! Please don't hurt me! Please"

Her screams were cut off as the man with the bandages in the white coat ripped into her chest with his bare hand, piercing her right through. The blood coated everything…everyone.

"ABORT! ABORT MISSION!" Another man screamed into a little device on his hand, "He's out of control!"

"Filth!" The man accused, finished with his dirty task. The woman's previously white-blonde hair could no longer be decided as a real color under all the blood. The man's cruel features were masked by its rusty scent, perhaps driving further his madness. He laughed again.

"Stop!" A different voice ordered, "What are you doing?!"

The man turned to the sound. It came from a small child, no older than eight, standing in the open doorway. The man glanced past the boy and into the open space behind him, looking to bolt. He spit out a mouthful of crimson saliva, and then ran towards him, ripping a sheet of metal from the surgical equipment. It shrieked as it bent and twisted in ways it was never intended to bend. He spun it in a heavy loop before slamming it across the smaller one's chest, sending him crashing against the wall in the other room. The man tossed his weapon aside and went to finish off his prey.

The pitiful thing looked up at him with flickering green eyes, half-closed and…why were they leaking? Were eyes supposed to do that? He brought a hand to his own, then shook it away. He shouldn't get distracted so easily. Instead, he glanced at the trickle of blood mixing in with the tears at his feet.

This blood crawled.

"You're not human." The man stated, narrowing his eyes, "You're like me."

"Of course I am!" The injured one's crying increased. "Why can't you just remember?!"

"Roger, stand down." Yet another new voice broke in. The man turned to the doorway, where a stout, graying man in a black suit stood with crossed arms and a frown etched eternally into his features. "You've caused enough trouble here."

"Is that my name?"

"Yes."

"Who are you then?" The newly dubbed Roger asked in distrust, trying to keep an eye on both this new approacher and the sobbing child at his feet. They made him feel leery, backed into a corner like this. He tried to evaluate his options quickly. Could he kill the man?

"I'm your master, The Chairman, and the head of this company." The stout man answered. His voice was powerful, and certainly held the same command as his title.

"Don't listen to him, dad!" The wailing boy kept on, "Don't listen to him, he's a liar!"

"Dad…?" Something seemed to click, but only for a moment, and then it was gone. Roger glanced at The Chairman.

"My databases agree with your statement." He hissed, "However, I will not be controlled by some filthy human. You're disgusting…you don't care about me. You'll only ever care about yourselves. The obnoxious one's right: You are a liar. But don't think I'm on your side either," He directed this time towards the boy on the floor, bleeding from the mouth and wide-eyed. His hair parted to reveal a short scar on the side of his head. Roger stared at it for a moment. He wondered briefly if he had one of his own. "I'm on no one's team. I hate you all."

"But, dad!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Roger kicked him away, deciding for now that he could live. "Don't call me things I'm not."

Y-you…are…! MOTHER!" The boy scrabbled to his feet and ran past The Chairman, into the room behind him. The Chairman said nothing, didn't even spare a passing glance. Instead, all his attention was on Roger. Roger squirmed under the look, then realized what was making him so uncomfortable. Deftly, he removed the scratchy white coat he'd been wearing. Underneath, his clothes were nothing but black; a snug black turtle-neck with matching pants. He couldn't remember where he'd got them or how he got them on, much like everything else, but he wasn't going to question it. At least he was clothed…although, they stank of dirty human filth. He wrinkled his nose.

"You will prove useful in the future." The Chairman said, bringing him back to reality, "Together, we could crumble empires, win wars, all for the glory of England. Imagine it now, the smoke of the aftermath, the wake of destruction!"

"I can imagine it already." Roger began flatly, looking The Chairman straight in the eyes, "But I do not need you to get there. All you humans are the same. For the glory of England? That's the dumbest excuse I've ever heard. That given, it's also the first I've heard. I will cause your destruction, but not now. Not with you, not under your feet. I will never reach the notoriety you want."

"What then?" The Chairman accused.

"I will be feared, but no one will see me. I will be a legend, but only one that parents tell their disobedient children as bed time stories to keep them in line. I will be the thing people have nightmares about when they know they've done wrong. People will know of me, but not know me…not yet."

"Why?"

"Because." Roger stated, "Not even I know me yet."

The Chairman smiled cruelly. "You're leaving then?"

"For a while."

"I'll let you go without a fight," The Chairman said, twisting malice into his words, "But first, I'd like you to take care of something for me."

"What is it?"

"There's a project my new crew is working on. The only problem is that the subject is…less than willing. We need to extract her emotions to give a certain new computer 'wisdom'. However, this is proving very difficult. I would kill her myself, but I don't want murder on my company's records."

"So you want me to kill her, then blame me if anything goes wrong in the future." Roger shot back, all too perceptive. The Chairman breathed in and smiled wider.

"If that's how you see it, then yes." He responded, stepping aside and waving Roger into the room, "There's a shelf of equipment on the wall when you walk in. Take what you need, do your job, and get out. I look forward to your return, Dr. Williams."

"That's the only way to see it." Roger brushed him aside and picked through the assorted rifles and pistols on the shelf. He hefted up a matte black sniper rifle. The beauty of it could be admired as he turned it over, the look in his eyes even more terrifying for wear.

"Roger!" A female voice cried. It sounded more like a wounded animal than a human being. He turned halfway towards its owner, sitting on her knees on the floor with the small boy in her lap. Her hair hung in matted clumps full of debris, her eyes were the same color as the boy's from earlier.

"Roger, it's me, Hale!" She said, wearing the most genuine-looking smile Roger had seen yet, "Simon and I, we're both here! We can go now, so just put the gun down and let's go."

Roger looked her square in the eyes. His own were reflected back at him as the reality of everything set in slowly in the luminous pools of green. They were scarlet, demeaning, cruel, cold without pity.

They were the same eyes she looked into warmly as he shot her through the skull.

_Dear Roger,_

_I…can hear the birds again._

_ Are you coming to meet me there too?_

_At the place in the meadow where the flowers grow?_

_Roger, may I always haunt your dreams, because every day,_

_My thoughts are with you_

_And guide your way._

_I'm glad I love you still_

_ -Hale and Simon_

_ 1-25-38_


	31. And the moral is

HALE PROTOCOL

EPILOGUE: And the Story Goes On

DATE INVALID

_What have I done?_

People clad in white lab jackets gathered around a shivering young girl, just barely alive. She shouldn't even be alive…but she was. And so, she would make a perfect test subject. It's a good thing that kooky doctor left behind his notebook.

_ What did I do to you? Why are you so angry?_

As she started to mutter weakly and sob in her blood-soaked slumber, a petite woman with flat, dark hair and equally dark eyes stepped forward and pressed a hand to the girl's forehead. The blood leaked between her fingers, staining her nails scarlet. The woman amongst the crowd froze suddenly and withdrew her hand. She slowly wiped it on her coat. She was starting to think taking this job back had been a bad idea…

"What did she just say?"

"You're probably just hearing things, Santha."

"No, I'm sure she just said Roger." The woman insisted, "I swear, I heard it just now! Roger Williams! He said his name! Just now-she said it!"

"God…I wonder if she could be…"

_Please, please don't go. I'm cold._

The heart monitor spiked and dashed off into as tangent, screaming obscenities into the air. A few white coats rushed around in a mad haze, yet the light overhead was still fixed only on her.

"Stop it!" Someone halted them, "The transfer was successful! It doesn't matter at this point if the body dies! She's no use to us anymore; we have what we need."

"But-she said-!"

"I don't care what she said, Santha! Pull the plug!"

The girl on the chair stared up at the spotlight with dull, yet vivid green eyes as the beeping ran into itself and became one sold noise. Her hair was flat, colored only with the blood the bullet left her, and the bruises underneath.

_We'll follow you when you leave…even if the cold catches us all…_

As the dark-haired woman in front of the chairman looked up, finished with her report, he frowned in distaste and waved it away.

"She died of murder. The body last discovered, which was supposed to be hers, was falsely identified…The police will find her washed up on the river tomorrow. I'll arrange the funeral."

"May

I come, sir?" She asked, looking up keenly.

"Why?"

"There's someone I want to pay respects for."

_Why is it so cold here?_

The funeral was a large affair. Of course it would be; if the daughter of the wealthiest family under the queen showed up dead after eight years, people were bound to hear of it. The cemetery was packed with black suits and dresses, as if God himself had decided to paint a monochromatic landscape that day. The casket was open, with the tears of the sky and a million strangers falling into it. Sobs could be heard even under the falling of the roaring downpour, as the multitudes blew into their clean, white handkerchiefs. For some reason, rounds from the tower guard were shot into the air, perforating the wails. The girl had been no army man.

_Where are you? I need you to keep me warm._

By her mother's side, a small boy peered up into the casket. He shed no tears, which was unusual in of itself. However, if looks could kill, his certainly would. The look of grief contorting his face was so powerful that whoever was strong enough to stay solemn at the sight of the dead wept over him.

"Mother's alive." He murmured, "She's just different now." His hands twisted themselves into knots as he spoke. He looked like an almost devastating similar to the girl in the grave.

_ Just a little closer._

The crowd pushed and flowed out of the cemetery yard as quickly as they had arrived, leaving only three remaining. The woman from her…surgery…crouched over the new patch of turned ground and ran her thin fingers across the face of the tombstone. They were still caked in blood. Had she even washed them, aside from the cold soak of the rain?

Hurriedly, she pulled of the edges of her black veil. There was a boy next to her, about six. He played with sticks in the mud, the rainwater reflecting off his red hair and bright blue eyes as his mother planted a flower on the grave. When she was finished, she plucked up her son from the rot and briskly walked away, brushing dangerously close to the other one waiting.

"Mommy, what happened?" Her son asked.

_Almost there._

Someone went to heaven today." She replied carefully.

"Who?" The boy prodded further," Why are they so important, mum? I could've been playing army men. Instead, we're stuck out in the rain all day wearing stupid clothes!"

"Shh, shh!" The woman scolded angrily, "Now, Jack, you musn't ask such stupid questions! What did your father tell you!?"

"Keep your mouth shut." The child rolled his eyes as he recited the rule, "Before someone shuts it for ya."

_I-I don't understand why you did this…_

Now only one left.

_But…_

He was shrouded with a deep black cloak, only leaving his eyes and a little tuft of jet black hair uncovered. Th former glanced over the tomb with absolute curiosity. Had he done this? Who was she anyway? Who was _he_ anyway? The man felt deep within him relief for his escape; a deep, stronger urge to do more of this work…what was it they had called it by…hurt? Pain? Kill. Yes, he must kill more. He would find his answers in death. It gave him…relief. From his own suffering, and from theirs too.

No, the man with the scarlet eyes did not know who or what he was.

But he had a feeling he was about to find out.

Sighing, he left the meaningless grave and turned to leave. He stopped. Were those…voices?

_See, you _can_ hear me._

For a split second, the clouds broke overhead and a beam of sunlight soaked the soggy ground underfoot, right where the grave and the man were, frozen in time. His eyes were wide as he looked back on it one last time. Whether in disbelief or shock or something else completely was undeterminable.

_Are you going to stay with me?_

"Shut up." He growled, "you humans are all the same, clinging to life even when you have none. Haven't you heard that you're dead yet?! Can't you see that? There's no hope for you. That's why you all must die."

_Maybe. I think that's an awfully admirable quality as well. I have forever to wait._

"Just go away. I don't even know you. I hate you." He accused, scathing and hurting. He tugged his cloak quickly back over his mouth where it had fallen and left the cemetery; the beam of sunlight softly flickered and dwindled away, letting loose the rain once more. It splattered into the accumulated, muddy puddles, reflecting an illuminated version of the inscribed tombstone…

_It's okay_.

In another part of London, white coats on a seventeenth floor crowded around a blue chamber. They raised their glasses and proposed toasts and congratulated on a job well done.

Yes, the transfer had been successful. So while the body had been buried and started to decompose, the memories and emotions, the soul and mind, still clung to live and lived on elsewhere.

Emblazoned on the twinkling surface of the blue column was one word, an acronym.

'GlaSIS'

"Say something!" A coat cheered once more, joined by the congregation.

"Yes, yes!"

"Show us your success!" Another jeered. Of course, this 'your' was supposed to be taken without the 'Y'.

The machine, or rather, the girl, took a minute to draw herself back to this room. _Living in the past again, eh?_ She scolded herself, _is this what we've come to_? However, she still drew up enough recollection to utter something for the crowd.

"I AM HERE."

And they clapped.

…..

The reflection read as follows:

HALE ELENOR GRIFFITHS

1914-1938

Daughter and beloved

May her memory go on as an example to others

She will always be here with us.

((.END TRANSMISSION.))

…

**Damn.**

**I…can't believe this is finished…after all this time.**

**So, merry Christmas. I guess.**

**Also, I'll be posting an alternate ending that has a lot to do with this story to LOTF apocalyptica soon. So, look out for that. In addition, the sequel to this, named FAUX, is in progress and coming along nice and derpy like. I hope you'll continue with this long series with that as well.**

**Also, HOMESTUCK. I really want to write fanfiction for that….:D**

**I really hope you enjoyed this, even if it didn't make much sense and it was so sad and unfulfilling. Trust me, it gets better in the sequel. Just pay attention to dates(not the fruit!), and you'll be fine. Those come back to bite you (and me) in the butt later on, if you continue reading this, that is. **

**Shout out to my dedicated few: the ones who reviewed this story.**

**Cocolada**

**Italktodeadpigs**

**Daspartanreviewer**

**Just Another Believer**

**Atomicsh0ck**

**And Anna**

**Special thanks to my editor, who did nothing at all with this story, but helps me more than he knows just by listening to me sob over the phone about all my problems. Bvillemic, you're the best. I hope you feel better soon, dude. Good luck with your wood-whittling.**

**THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FOLLOWING, FAVORITING, READING, AND REVIEWING THIS STORY. YOU ALL MADE MY LIFE FOR THE PAST FEW MONTHS. SEE YOU AGAIN SOON.**

**-kat-**


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